The colossal Eternal Canopy descended slowly, its massive trunk groaning as it fell toward the shattered ground of Sector 8. Despite the speed of its plummet, it seemed to move in slow motion, as though time itself had slowed.
To the people of sector 8 floating in the sky, held high by Magnus's crackling tendrils of lightning or other paragon abilities, it felt like the end of the world.
Buildings had crumbled into dust. Entire communities lay in ruins, their homes reduced to rubble. The clash between Atticus and Blackgate had been nothing short of catastrophic.
Yet, despite the devastation, every gaze was fixed on the falling tree.
Their expressions were frozen in horror and disbelief. But it wasn't the destroyed homes or the countless lives lost that filled their minds. It was the Eternal Canopy.
The tree had stood for generations, a symbol of stability, strength, and life. To the people of Sector 8, it was eternal, something they believed would outlive them all.
Now, it was falling.
The sheer impossibility of it struck them like a wave. It felt unreal, like a nightmare they couldn't wake from.
And then they felt it.
A sudden surge of sorrow, crashing into their souls like a tidal wave.
It wasn't their own.
It came from the spirits.
Countless ethereal beings poured out of their bodies, shimmering forms materializing in the air.
They wept.
The cries of the spirits were haunting, high-pitched wails mixed with mournful hums, each sound echoing with indescribable grief.
The sorrow was so profound it seized the people, their bonds with the spirits pulling the emotions into them. Tears streamed down their faces without them realizing.
They cried as the tree descended, overwhelmed by sadness that wasn't theirs.
But it didn't last.
Suddenly, the sorrow froze.
The expressions of the people shifted. Their tears dried, replaced by something hotter.
Anger.
In unison, every spirit turned, their ethereal eyes locking onto a single figure hovering high in the air.
Atticus.
Their gazes burned with primal hatred, their fury boiling over as a suffocating wave of killing intent flooded the sector.
The pressure was staggering. The air turned heavy, suffocating, pressing down on every living being. The sky grew darker, the atmosphere charged with tension.
Magnus, Oberon, and the other paragons narrowed their eyes. They felt it instantly.
The killing intent was undeniable.
Another battle was about to erupt.
Magnus's and Oberon's gazes flicked to Seraphina, their expressions sharp. Among everyone present, only she could pose a real threat should a battle begin. The rest were cannon fodder.
But Seraphina… she didn't seem to notice.
Her gaze was fixed on the falling tree, her expression distant.
She had been raised to revere the Eternal Canopy. It was the source of spiritual energy in Eldoralth, the lifeblood of the Starhaven family's power.
Without it… would spiritual energy cease to exist in this world? Would the Starhaven family lose their powers? Would her family's legacy, built over countless generations, end with her?
Was this really happening?
The thought made her heart pound. Her mind was muddled, lost in a storm of fears and questions, oblivious to the seething tension building around her.
And now, all eyes were on Atticus.
He hovered in the sky, faint streaks of lightning illuminating his form. His cold, unyielding expression made him seem less like a boy and more like a deity.
Thunder rumbled overhead, as if the storm itself acknowledged his fury.
Atticus was angry.
No, more than angry, he was seething.
He had been so close to killing Blackgate. So close. Yet, the paragon had escaped.
His hatred boiled, his chest tightening with the weight of his failure.
This wasn't the first time.
First, Carius. Now, Blackgate. Both had escaped him. Both were enemies far too dangerous to leave alive. And both because he hadn't been strong enough to stop them.
Weakness.
The word burned in his mind, repeating over and over. His fingers tightened around his katana, the blade trembling slightly from the force of his grip.
Despite the overwhelming killing intent focused on him from the spirits and people below, Atticus didn't react. It was as if their hatred didn't matter to him.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Ozeroth's voice had just spoken words that made him freeze mid-air.
"There are consequences for every action," Ozeroth's deep, commanding voice rumbled through Atticus's mind. "And this one is no exception."
Atticus's grip on his katana loosened slightly, his anger dimming as the words echoed in his head. His mind raced.
"I must say," Ozeroth continued, "your memories are… fascinating. The more I see, the more excited I become. The future is going to be very entertaining."
A dark, rumbling laugh shook Atticus to his core.
"See you in a few months," Ozeroth finished.
And then, silence.
Atticus's breath caught in his throat. His mind spun, trying to make sense of the cryptic words. But before he could process them, an intense weakness swept over him.
It wasn't just fatigue.
No, this was something entirely different.
His body felt hollow. His strength vanished, the overwhelming power he had wielded moments ago slipping away like sand through his fingers. The paragon-level energy he had commanded was gone.
His limbs grew heavy, his vision blurred, and a sharp ache spread through his chest, as if his very core was unraveling.
'What…?' his mind spiraled, struggling to comprehend what was happening.
Before he could react, the world tilted. His eyes fluttered shut, and his body plummeted.
Fast.
The air screamed past him as he fell from the sky, unconscious.
And then, as though a silent signal had been given, chaos erupted.
A blinding light burst from Seraphina's chest, radiating like a beacon that cut through the battlefield.
"No!" Seraphina exclaimed, her voice trembling with shock as the golden light surged forth.
From within the light, a figure materialized rapidly in mid-air.
Ismara.
She emerged, radiant and commanding. Her large, golden eyes burned with fury. Vines of light coiled around her glowing, ethereal form, and her translucent wings stretched wide, shimmering with raw power.
"Accursed boy!" Ismara's sharp, furious voice rang out, echoing across the battlefield.
Her rage was palpable, crashing down on the sector like a tidal wave. Without waiting for Seraphina's command, Ismara sped toward Atticus with terrifying speed, her crushing aura descending on the battlefield.
Seraphina's breath hitched in her throat. "Stop!" she screamed, her voice trembling.
Her wide, horrified eyes were locked onto Ismara. She hadn't commanded the spirit to attack.
Ismara was acting on her own.