The sky turned red at noon.

  Not sunset red.

  Wound red.

  From the northern horizon, a colossal shape emerged—horned, winged, wreathed in shadow and fire.

  Each step the demon took cracked the earth.

  Forests ignited.

  Rivers boiled.

  Dareth fell silent in terror.

  Kael stared at the distant silhouette.

  “So it begins.”

  Arin felt the Ash Crown’s presence awaken—though it had not yet fully formed.

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  Something ancient stirred beneath the palace stone.

  Malrec smiled as the demon approached.

  “Come,” he whispered.

  Arin stepped forward, gripping the blade tighter.

  “I won’t run.”

  Kael glanced at him.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  The demon’s roar rolled across the kingdom like an avalanche.

  The Veil thinned to transparency.

  The world stood at the edge of ruin.

  And for the first time—

  The hero understood the cost of hesitation.