The sun had not yet risen.
Stonehold lay beneath a blanket of ash-gray mist, thicker than usual. Not the natural fog of coastal mornings—but something heavier. The kind of stillness that followed devastation.
Adrian stood on the balcony of an abandoned watchtower overlooking the Temple District. Below, the streets were empty. Rubble choked alleyways. Statues cracked. The final collapse of the Obsidian Catacombs had shaken the very bones of the city.
He hadn't slept.
Couldn't.
The Bound Star Core hummed faintly within his soul sea, its presence both comforting and weighty. Even in stillness, it pulsed with restrained power—reminding him of everything he had awakened. Everything he could now become.
"You're brooding again," Bella said behind him.
Adrian didn't turn. "I'm processing."
She stepped up beside him, arms folded, still in her black leathers, her spear strapped to her back. "Processing or punishing yourself?"
He gave a tired smirk. "Can't it be both?"
