The battle was nearly done.
What was left of it now was no more than pointless struggles.
Across the broken stone and blood-slicked soil of Hollow Spine, the last cries of resistance faded into choking silence.
Those who had once screamed war cries and held weapons with trembling resolve now lay scattered—torn, crushed, or drained of life entirely.
The stronger ones had fought hard, as hard as they could, desperately unleashing everything they had. Blades whirled, spells lit the air, and cries of defiance echoed into the dark sky.
But it hadn't mattered.
Not when the full weight of Ian's Crown of Forgotten legacy bore down upon them. Not when the soulbounds—his personal army of death—concentrated all their force on them like wolves upon cornered prey.
They were dying. All of them.
And yet…
Ian's fingers twitched slightly, and a faint tremor passed through his stance. His breathing came slower, heavier.
