They stepped through the portal into ruin.
Jason's boots hit broken stone and residual frost in the same instant his eyes locked onto the two massive forms sprawled across the devastated street. The Ember Lord and Shade Lord lay where they had fallen—cracked, dimmed, and unmoving. Molten plating had cooled into dull, fractured plates. Tendrils of darkness twitched only weakly before falling still again. The sheer scale of their defeat hit like a physical blow.
Behind him, Luna sucked in a sharp breath. Amarok's hand tightened on her shoulder, his newly scarred face tightening with instinctive fear at the sight of two realm-tier entities broken so completely.
Jason lifted one hand in a quick, sharp signal.
"Quiet," he said under his breath. "Both of you. Don't speak."
He needed the silence. Something still lingered in the air—an oozing, residual cold that did not belong to ordinary weather. It clung to the edges of the ruined cabin and the cracked street like a fading scent.
