The rain-washed island was finally quiet.
Behind them, the towering spire of the Storm's Eye still reached into the sky, but its perpetual, violent lightning had dimmed to a gentle, ambient aurora. The Tempest Matriarch was dead. The ferry rocked rhythmically against the slick wooden docks, waiting to carry them back to the mainland. Overhead, seagulls wheeled in the clear, grey sky, their cries distant and indifferent to the god that had just been slain.
Standing at the water's edge, Nathan breathed in the sharp salt air. Three High Class Towers cleared. Three to go.
Against his wrist, the new Mana Capacitor was entirely dark and dead, completely drained by the final fight. The Leyline Ring thrummed weakly against his finger, struggling to replenish the massive toll the Matriarch had demanded of his F-Rank core. He was bone-tired, his muscles aching with a profound, hollow exhaustion. But it was a good kind of tired. The quiet, ringing exhaustion of victory.
