The battlefield remained silent.
Thousands of ancient warriors stood frozen, awaiting a single command.
Asterion lowered his hand.
His calm golden eye settled on John while the abyss-like black eye seemed to stare far beyond him, as though observing countless futures simultaneously.
The old traveler who had appeared moments ago stood quietly between the two forces, leaning lightly on his weathered staff.
The silver aura surrounding him neither expanded nor diminished.
It simply existed.
Unlike the mana everyone else possessed, his aura blended naturally with the hidden realm.
As though the world itself accepted him.
John narrowed his eyes.
"...Who are you?"
The old man chuckled softly.
"A question better answered after we survive today."
His voice carried none of the pressure that Asterion's did.
Instead, it was warm.
Comforting.
Like an old grandfather greeting family after many years apart.
Yet despite that warmth...
John's draconic instincts remained alert.
