The God’s Fall

The Frostfang Vale had become a crucible of chaos, the stone circle at its heart now a shattered battleground, the standing stones cracked and scorched, their ancient runes dimmed, some toppled into the frozen earth, their fragments glowing faintly with fading red light, the marrow god’s power waning. The ground within the circle was a jagged mess of cracked ice and scorched rock, the bone shard’s pedestal reduced to rubble, its spiraling runes extinguished, the shard itself lying in pieces, its red glow snuffed out, the hum of dark magic silenced, leaving only the faint whisper of ash in the air. The frozen river nearby had thawed in patches, its dark waters bubbling, steam rising where the ice had melted, reflecting the pale, cold light of the midday sun in fractured, silver shards, the edges still lined with jagged ice formations, now dulled and dripping, the water’s surface littered with ash and bone fragments from the marrow god’s avatar, its defeated form a pile of charred bone