MEND ME IF YOU CAN.
“Then what—”
“I’m going to rewrite the judgment.”
Before Soren could speak again, Travian rose, lifting both hands. The mark on his wrist flared violently, molten gold spilling outward, painting the courtyard in liquid sunlight. Ancient symbols spiraled from him, forming a circle of runes that shimmered and shifted, alive, rewriting reality with their every pulse.
The Arbiter’s voice thundered, shaking the skies. “You dare alter divine law?”
Travian’s tone was calm, eerily serene. “I wrote the first one. I can unwrite it.”
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