Kael’Zareth did not rush.

  It walked.

  Each step toward Dareth reshaped the land. Hills flattened. Stone cracked in spiderweb fractures miles wide. The sky above it churned in spirals of red and black.

  Arin stood atop the palace walls as citizens fled below.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “It’s too large,” someone whispered.

  “It’s a god,” another answered.

  Kael stood beside Arin, expression unreadable.

  “No,” he said quietly. “It bleeds.”

  As if summoned by those words, Kael’Zareth raised one massive claw and dragged it through the air.

  The sky tore open again.

  This time, it did not seal.

  The Veil ripped completely.

  Atmas flooded into the world in numbers beyond counting—thousands descending like falling stars, their forms thicker now, heavier, capable of tearing stone and flesh alike.

  The boundary between life and death vanished.

  The war had begun.