The last sound from Korthan's body faded like the final ember in a forge that had burned too long. The war hall minutes ago the heart of pure fire and absolute will now lay hollow, echoing only with silence. Cracked walls still smoked, the floor melted and hardened again in chaotic shapes, and the air hung heavy, unsure whether to stay hot or simply die.
Sylvia stood at the center.
In her hand, Korthan's white flame core still pulsed slowly, like the heart of a giant forced to accept a new master. The fire did not rebel. It did not scream. It bowed, obedient as the chains wrapped around her.
Treant Jr. stared at the flame with his small red eyes, his body nearly swallowed by the aura of white and black swirling around Sylvia.
Plop.
(It… changed.)
And indeed, the aura around Sylvia had changed. Her Death Flame was no longer purely black. Thin white veins of light ran through it not merged, but coexisting, like two laws forced to share one vessel.
