The dust had barely settled. The air still vibrated with tension. The world, once firm and structured, now felt wrong—as if the very fabric of reality was unraveling thread by thread.
Reeves staggered upright, his breathing ragged. Blood stained his robes, but his eyes were sharp—constantly scanning, calculating.
"Wait…" he muttered. "Where's… Castenada?"
Kaelen, bruised and breathing hard, looked up at Reeves, confusion flickering in his eyes. "What?"
Reeves narrowed his gaze, searching the battlefield frantically now. "Where's Castenada? Where's Chancellor Lockwood?"
His eyes darted from wreckage to rubble, from broken archways to collapsed towers. No movement. No sign. Not even a whisper of aura.
And then—
A slow, venomous voice slithered through the air like a knife through silk.
"You won't find them."
