A glass coffin encased in a thick layer of magic-infused ice had vapour wafting off its surface. This coffin containing a demon lord's deceased body was stored hundreds of metres underground and protected by multiple spells, each one deadly and precise in its killing function.
Rowan held a lamp as he stood looking down at the icy coffin that held his best friend and soul mate.
Syryn's peaceful expression had remained undisturbed for the year-long rest he had been taking inside the cursed coffin. If he opened his eyes, the demon lord would see a spark of insanity in the blue eyes that watched over his dead form.
"Rowan," a male voice called down in panic from somewhere far away. "North Citadel has fallen! We need to leave now!"
