Unlike the warriors who faced phantom enemies or physical gauntlets, Elian stood entirely alone. No monsters materialized from the mist, and no elemental hazards threatened to crush him. The silence was absolute, pressing against his eardrums with a staggering weight.
As the Prophet and the recognized King of humanity, his burden had never been physical combat. His duty was to carry the weight of millions of souls and guide them toward Red's vision.
The white mist beneath his boots slowly began to swirl. It rose and solidified, forming a massive ethereal scale. On one side rested a single glowing ember representing his own life. On the other side, an ocean of shadowy figures materialized, whispering in a thousand overlapping voices, representing the millions of mortals depending on his leadership.
