The vision bled across the hall like a curse let loose—broadcast from Nyxavere's projection, the Chaotic Abyss unfolded above them, alive and merciless.
And when the parents saw what their children had become, the air cracked—not with screams, but with silence so heavy it throbbed like grief made flesh.
The Kingswells stood frozen, a quiet, terrible dignity laced in their stillness. Elven grace could carry most horrors, but this? This broke them. Bella's mother's lips parted in horror as her daughter—once a gleaming jewel of their lineage—was now nothing but a crawling mass of scorched nerves and shriveled agony. Her father stepped forward once, hands twitching like they wanted to reach through dimensions, to pull her back—but couldn't.
His knees buckled. Not from weakness—but from failure. Prideful, ancient elven blood... brought low.
Bella!
