Back in the scorched heart of the Solara Kingdom—Zone 15, the once-thriving city of Ilis had become a portrait of ruin. Fires crackled like laughter from the gods, smoke coiled skyward like serpents, and the screams of the dying carried through the air with a symphony of despair. Roots erupted from beneath the earth, twisting into spires of thorn and stone, crashing through towers and crushing homes beneath their cruel weight.
Above it all, floating effortlessly on invisible currents of myst, was Sylvathar—the Green Calamity himself.
He stood as though the sky belonged to him, a silhouette of black and sickly emerald wreathed in veils of drifting ash. His eyes—pale green, aglow like poisoned stars—gazed down at the chaos below with the detached amusement of a deity watching insects scurry over the burning ruins of their nest.
Beneath his feet, Solara burned.
