The air clung heavy and oppressive, charged with the volatile remnants of the clash. Frost crystals hung suspended in the haze, refracting the light of erratic sparks that cracked like miniature fireworks. The battlefield was littered with ice-strewn rubble and singed craters, the scars of elemental chaos etched deep into its bones.
Aether stood at the eye of the storm, his breathing harsh and ragged. His Aura pulsed dimly, its flickering light a tenuous lifeline in the charged atmosphere. The frost struck him first—a sharp, glacial touch brushing against his exposed skin. He shivered as faint white veins of light coursed through his body, patches of frost clinging to his arms like shimmering, makeshift armor.
