The Dragon's Silent Shadow
"Like a disease that refuses to break."
Tristan scrambled to his feet. His rapier was gone, lost in the fall. His hands were empty. But the white lightning scars on his chest were glowing so bright they shone through his shirt.
"The tower is falling, Father," Tristan wheezed, stepping in front of Saoirse. "Your god is dead. Your Queen is dead. It’s over."
Alaric smiled. It was a thin, bloodless expression.
"Over?" Alaric shook his head. "My boy, you have simply cleared the board for the next game. The God-Shell was a prototype. The Spire was just infrastructure."