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Scorching winds howled across the desolate plains of Kaelthar, whipping ash into eyes and lungs. The air reeked of sulfur and decay—rotten promises from a war that shattered continents. Lyra’s gauntlet sparked as she dragged it across the obsidian monolith, ancient runes flaring crimson. *Five seals left.* The mantra pounded in her skull, louder than the distant thunder of collapsing void-rifts. Her brother’s last words clung to her like a curse: *“Break them all, or watch the sky burn.”* She’d buried him in a shallow grave miles back, his still-glowing dagger strapped to her thigh. No time for grief. No room for doubt. Shadows writhed at the edge of her vision—Whisperers, clawing at the fraying edges of reality. The third seal exploded in a shower of black shards, and the ground beneath her boots *screamed*. Blood dripped from her nose, hot and metallic. *Four.* A jagged laugh escaped her lips. The gods thought this a game? Fine. She’d play—and she’d cheat. Tearing a vial of liquid starlight from her belt, she drank it in one burning gulp. Let the constellations rage. Let the abyss come. She’d smash every damn star in the heavens to save what little hellscape she had left.
