Aether lay gasping on the shattered street, each breath uneven. The ground around him was a wasteland, fractured by the violent outburst of power that had all failed to hit Altan. Glass from the nearby skyscrapers lay scattered in gleaming shards, catching the dim, flickering light of broken holograms. A few of those holograms still functioned, their static-filled projections capturing images of Aether and Mirakos Fane like silent, watchful witnesses.
In the distance, the church loomed again,
Infant of the gate, Azarias stood alone, his gaze trailing after the departing figure of Zephyros. The meeting had lasted no longer than an hour, half an hour, twenty minutes, give or take.
