Vol.4/Chapter 8: Echoes of the Past

In the Castle Attila:

The marble pillars of Castle Attila groaned as raw magic hissed through the air like steam from a ruptured forge. Gilded frames cracked. Paintings curled and blackened under the oppressive weight of one man’s fury.

Nikola Jeanne D’Monteau—the Inquisitor—stood at the heart of his war room, shoulders trembling with rage. His breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, and the map before him—a sprawling canvas of the continent—was scorched with fresh burns near the north.

He had felt it.

The thread snapped.

Ebony... was free.

The Pacto de Sanggre was broken. Not weakened. Not cracked.

Gone.

“She did it,” he whispered, eyes wide and glassy. “She broke it.”

He clenched his fists until blood slicked his palms. “I gave her power. A name. And she severed me like I was nothing.”