The flames had not yet died when the sky itself began to change.
Clouds churned like restless beasts, swallowing the moon until the battlefield was swallowed in a dim, blood-colored haze. The air grew heavy, thick with ash and iron. The cries of the wounded echoed through Ravenclaw's walls, mixing with the thunder of distant drums.
Evelyn stood amid the ruins of the outer gate, her armour scorched and her blade dripping with blood. The wind tugged at her hair, carrying whispers from the burning forest below. Her lungs ached, but her eyes never left the horizon.
Fji was coming.
She could feel it — the pull in her chest, the cold surge through her veins. His presence was unmistakable, a darkness that seemed to drink the very air.
Alaric stumbled toward her, blood running down the side of his face. "The second wave is retreating. But something's wrong. They're not running in fear — they're regrouping."
