The night over San Diego had become strangely quiet despite the devastation scattered across streets, bridges, and shattered districts because fear itself seemed to be holding its breath, and deep beneath the city where forgotten tunnels connected ancient chambers older than recorded history, Eryndor finally reached the final barrier separating imprisonment from freedom. The stone surrounding him trembled softly. The symbols covering the cavern walls flickered uncertainly. The darkness itself appeared reluctant to release him.
Eryndor stood before the enormous archway carved by hands that had long since turned to dust while fragments of memory drifted through his mind like distant echoes from another age, and each recollection carried reminders of empires that had risen proudly before vanishing into oblivion. He remembered kings kneeling. He remembered armies burning. He remembered silence following victory.
