The grand stage was soaked in blood and shadow.
Caelgorr the Hollow stood victorious—his monstrous, shifting frame looming beneath the shattered visage of Nyxaris. Every member of Lucy's cohort lay scattered across the ruined temple floor—bodies broken, breath shallow… or gone altogether. Only one remained.
Lucy.
The lone human stood before the snarling beast, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. His armor was a ruined mess—jagged tears exposed pale, blood-specked skin and bruises that bloomed like bruised violets across his ribs. Strips of fabric clung to him like ash after a fire. Dirt and dried ichor caked his hands. Behind his wind-battered hair, his eyes burned—golden, furious, and hollowed by exhaustion.
