Chapter 35
The destruction caused by Iscaris was absolute.
Deadly. Relentless.
It did not stop at a few cities. It swallowed every city under the Kingdom of Rugraiy, one after another, turning them into oceans of flame and ash.
And then it spread.
What was once contained erupted outward, crossing borders, crashing into neighboring kingdoms as the Fryborn flames poured across the land like a curse unleashed upon the era.
Lucky citizens fled early, abandoning homes, families, histories. They ran before the flames reached them.
The unlucky ones stayed.
The stubborn ones believed they could stop it.
They did not even get the mercy of a scream.
They did not pray.
They vanished, burned to nothing in an instant.
Dread consumed the world.
Absolute terror followed.
And in the middle of it all, baby Vastor watched.
He gurgled. He chuckled.
An innocent sound, twisted beyond reason.
