The forest behind us is burning but there’s no fire, just air so angry it incinerates anything it touches.We’re running through terrain I don’t recognize, Tempest barely conscious in my arms, Alistair supporting me because I can barely walk after everything my body’s been through. The freed children are crying, the warriors are panicking, and somewhere in the distance I can hear the Rage screaming.Not words, just pure fury given voice, and the sound makes my bones vibrate.“How far?” I gasp to the Morgana-echo, except she’s gone, all the echoes are gone, sacrificed in the seals.“I don’t know,” Alistair says, and the hopelessness in his voice is worse than the Rage behind us.We crest a hill and stop because the valley below is full of people, hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all fleeing in the same direction we are.Entire packs displaced, families carrying whatever they could grab, children crying for parents who didn’t make it out.The apocalypse isn’t theoretical anymore, it’s
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