The battlefield did not burn like any place Liora had ever seen. It wasn't fire that consumed the world—it was power. Silver and crimson tore across the sky in violent arcs, splitting the heavens as though reality itself could no longer contain what was happening. The ground below was unrecognizable, reduced to shattered layers of stone and ash, each fragment carrying the weight of something that had already ended. The air was thick, suffocating, not with smoke but with pressure—raw, overwhelming presence pressing down from every direction.
And at the center of it all, she stood.
Liora's breath caught, her entire body going still as her gaze locked onto the figure in the distance. It wasn't a reflection. It wasn't a trick of the Deep Border. It was real in a way that felt undeniable, in a way that reached past her thoughts and settled deep into her instincts.
It was her.
But not the version she knew.
