The Sanctum's training yard were filled with tamers that were going through their training, Kelvin stood at the yard's edge, his staff was planted firmly in the packed dirt, its rune-etched surface was warm under his grip.
Sweat was seen on his brow, tracing paths down his temples as he watched the younger tamers train with their beasts, their movements were raw but eager.
The faint scars on his left arm were pale reminders of the Shadowfen Marshes' zombie claws, itched faintly, but it was the memory of the grove's wraiths that burned freshest in his mind.
Those spectral figures, with their glowing eyes and despairing whispers, had been a stark warning: the Veil was stirring was its hunger far from sated.
Xerion, his End-Tyrant beast paced beside him, the beast's fiery scale were flared with it's restless energy, as if it was sensing the unease that churned in Kelvin's chest.
