The firebird appeared at noon, when the sun was at its zenith.
Arthur stood on the palace's highest tower, watching his forces take position along Lyranth's walls. The integrated human-orc units moved with supernatural efficiency, their enhanced bodies allowing perfect coordination. Everything was ready. The Coalition army would arrive in five hours, and—
The sky exploded into flame.
A massive phoenix, easily the size of Sera in her dragon form, materialized above the city. Its wings spread from horizon to horizon, casting the capital in flickering shadows of gold and crimson. The heat was oppressive, making the air shimmer like a desert mirage.
"That's not possible," Hawklight breathed beside him. "The army is still—"
"It's not the army," Arthur said quietly, his system already analyzing the magical signature. The power radiating from that bird was staggering—not quite at his level, but close. Too close. "It's him."
