On the outskirts of the Death Volcano, the air shimmered violently from the oppressive heat, tension crackling like static between the molten cracks in the ground.
Two figures descended from the sky, their movements precise and controlled, landing with barely a sound on the barren earth.
Elders Sylra and Kaelor had arrived, their robes billowing behind them, caught in the searing wind that swept through the volcanic wasteland.
The moment their feet touched the ground, both elders stood still, their eyes sharp and alert as they took in the scene around them.
Scattered across the scorched earth were the bodies of several six-star cultivators—guards from Necrovauld and Malachor, once powerful and now reduced to nothing more than casualties.
The lifeless bodies were charred, their strength and purpose snuffed out in a confrontation that had clearly gone beyond their abilities.
