In the caverns where shadow lingered, Marlic's ember eyes flared as whispers reached him. His champions bowed low, their voices trembling.
"Lord of Memory… the Ashbound are not alone. Another people has joined them. Their torches burn with both fire and smoke."
Marlic's laughter echoed, sharp and cruel. "So dawn has revealed survivors. The Emberkin crawl from their caves, thinking themselves saviors. Let them. Flame and smoke together—fragile bonds, brittle vows."
He raised his spear, its smoke curling weakly but steady. "I will not strike yet. Let them rebuild. Let them believe dawn has given them strength. Confidence breeds cracks. Hope breeds despair. When night falls again, I will tear their alliance apart."
The champions bowed, their forms flickering. "Shall we prepare the storm, Lord?"
Marlic's voice was cold, certain. "Yes. But not now. Give them time. Let them gather their wounded, forge their council, sing their vows. The longer they believe, the sweeter their collapse. When dusk comes, my storm will rise greater than before, and their fragile union will burn to ash."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where dawn still glowed faintly. His ember eyes narrowed. "Flamebearer thinks she has won allies. She forgets—night always returns. And when it does, I will break them all."