Chapter 59: The End of the Memory
Cael rose slowly from the rubble.
His breathing was ragged. Blood ran down his lip, soaking into the collar of his uniform. His left leg trembled as he put weight on it. Cracks laced across the shaft of the Staff of Whispering Nature, and its core flickered weakly.
But he was still standing.
Across from him, the necromancer floated just barely above the ground—his form twisted, barely held together by the remnants of foul magic. His face was a mask of rage and desperation. Limbs hung broken. His chest rose and fell unnaturally, like something already dead clinging to a lie.
He raised one shaking hand.
A glyph began to form—dark, unstable, chaotic. It pulsed with raw necrotic energy.
Cael said nothing.
He tightened his grip on the staff.
Light gathered behind him.
Wind spiraled upward, lifting fragments of dust and ash.
The air pulsed with pressure.
Wind. Gravitational. Light.