The silence that followed the explosion at the Sun-Stone Crater was not the silence of a grave; it was the silence of a world holding its breath. The necro-magical storm—the bruised purple sky, the bone-chilling wind, and the relentless thrum of the Dread-Tide—was gone. In its place was a fine, shimmering dust that fell like snow, coating the charred remains of the jungle in a layer of crystalline white. The bone-ships on the horizon had not just been broken; they had been unmade, their physical forms dissolved back into the primordial elements from which they were stolen. Selene was the first to reach the edge of the crater. Her hands were raw from digging through the rubble of the Heart-Root tunnels, her white fur singed by the feedback of the Blood-Seal’s destruction. Behind her, Kael and a hundred other warriors limped through the settling dust, their weapons lowered, their eyes wide with a hollow, desperate hope.
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