The silence after the ritual was wrong.
Not peaceful.
Hollow.
The wind that swept across the southern pass carried no tremor of magic now. No oppressive weight. No buried heartbeat beneath the soil.
For the first time in centuries…
The realm was unanchored.
Aria felt it instantly.
Not as power.
As absence.
She stood at the edge of the shattered ritual basin, breath shallow, Damien's arm still braced around her waist. The ground beneath them had stabilized, but something deeper had shifted in ways no map could chart.
"It's gone," Serel whispered behind them.
Aria shook her head faintly. "Not gone."
"Then what?" Damien asked quietly.
She swallowed.
"Free."
The word lingered like frost in the air.
Behind them, Caelum Vireth let out a broken laugh from where he knelt among the cracked sigils. Dust clung to his robes. His certainty had drained out of him like blood from an open wound.
