Zane stood quietly.
Before him, Kaelos's corpse hung impaled on her own trident—pierced through face, throat, and chest. Divine blood, red laced with fading gold, dripped slowly onto the cracked ground below. The once-proud goddess of surges no longer radiated power. Her divine aura had already begun to disperse, dissolving into the cold wind of the dead planet.
The trident was grounded deep into the surface, holding her lifeless body upright like a cruel monument.
Zane rested one hand in his coat pocket, the other loose at his side, his deep purple eyes calm as ever.
Across the battlefield, Drakthar stared at the scene.
Rage boiled violently inside him.
His fists trembled, golden frenzy mana flickering wildly around his arms, cracking the ground beneath his feet. For a moment it looked as if he would charge blindly, tear reality apart just to reach Zane—
—but he stopped.
Drakthar inhaled.
Exhaled.
Then he looked toward Vorathrax.
