Elsewhere, inside Ragnar, a middle-tier city far beyond Tempest.
A green-robed old man sat at the peak of a secluded mountain, still as an unmoving boulder. He inhaled and exhaled in practiced rhythms.
To an ordinary person, it would have seemed unremarkable. But to a trained eye, far more was happening. With every breath, the currents of mana around the old man surged wildly.
This continued for several moments before his eyes suddenly snapped open. A distasteful expression twisting across his face.
"Not yet," Kael growled, his fists clenching tightly.
The simple gesture caused the air around him to scream violently as fissures spread across the mountain.
He could feel it. His breakthrough was close. So unbearably close. Yet it kept eluding him, just as it had for decades.
His patience was running thin.
Just as frustration welled inside him, his gaze shifted toward what appeared to be empty space.
"What is it?" he snapped.
Instantly, the air rippled as a figure stepped out.
