The mountain air, already thin and freezing, turned stagnant. The presence at the edge of the plateau did not just occupy space; it erased it. As the mist curled around the mysterious silhouette, the sense of dread radiating from the figure became a physical weight, pressing against the chests of the three survivors.
Gwen, still trembling from the aftershocks of the Trinity Fusion, felt a sickening lurch in her soul. The resonance she felt from the stranger was not just similar to her own—it was an echo, a perfect, hollow mimicry that made her skin crawl.
Lucien and Kaelen surged to their feet, shielding Gwen instinctively. Their breaths came in ragged plumes of frost as they stared at the impossible sight.
The woman stepped forward, her boots clicking against the glass-shattered stone of the altar. As she entered the pale moonlight, the hood of her shadow-cloak fell back, revealing a face that froze the blood in Lucien's veins.
It was Gwen.
