In the capital, soldiers dropped their weapons and gazed upward. Some fell to their knees, whispering prayers to gods they no longer believed in, for surely this was a miracle.
Children pointed at the sky, eyes wide, as streaks of gold and red turned the night into an otherworldly dawn. Merchants abandoned their stalls to weep, not in despair, but in awe — knowing that such a shield could only mean war loomed close.
Far in the mountains, an old hermit-mystic watched, his blind eyes weeping tears of light. "A fox of fire and a vampire of storms… how strange. How perfect. Their harmony is the only thing keeping the heavens from breaking."
Reginald's hands trembled. He could feel the fire eating into his essence, each rune a law written with his very lifespan. His halo flickered dangerously, his tails dimming.
