Unchained

The sky had not stopped burning.

Even long after they left the amphitheater in ruins behind them, fire still scarred the heavens—ribbons of molten gold and blood-red streaking through the smoke-stained clouds. It was as if the stars themselves had caught flame and wept light across the wounded firmament. Ash rode the wind in silent spirals, and the air reeked of scorched earth and smoldering magic. Somewhere beyond the mountains that broke the horizon like shattered spines, the Hollow Crown loomed in the distance—black and jagged, a crown of stone resting on the skull of the world. The Warfather's awakening had not passed quietly. The sky knew. The earth knew. The powers in their hidden thrones, ancient and unseen, surely knew as well.