The Sovereign’s Gaze

The Sovereign's presence swallowed the hillside like a storm breaking over Everwood, his voice—"The Sovereign wakes, and you, child of Serendel, will face me"—hanging in the air like a death knell. The rift's violet light dimmed in his shadow, its chaotic pulse steadying as if bowing to his will. He stood tall, his midnight-black armor etched with runes that shimmered with a cold, silver glow, his face obscured by a helm adorned with jagged spines. His eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, burned through the chaos, locking onto Elara with an intensity that rooted her to the spot.

Vincent clutched his bleeding arm, his stolen Shadowguard blade dripping dark ichor as he positioned himself between Elara and the Sovereign, his breath ragged but his stance unyielding. Blood soaked his sleeve, a stark crimson against the charcoal of his suit, but his voice was steady, a growl of defiance. "You're not taking her—whatever you are."