The morning sun cast long shadows across the ruins of what had once been Ferraclysm's pride—the Iron Dominion lay broken against the canyon floor like the carcass of some technological beast. Around it, the cleanup crews from both Ouroboros and the Southern continent's emergency services worked with methodical efficiency, cataloging the wreckage and ensuring that no sensitive materials fell into unauthorized hands.
Arthur stood on the hotel's reconstructed terrace. The necropolis had faded with the dawn, leaving behind only the peaceful Singing Caves of Pyrros and the memory of supernatural terror that had consumed Maxwell's forces. In his hand, he held a holographic document that represented the formal conclusion of their conflict.
