The battlefield beneath the obsidian gates had become a vortex of chaos, its center holding the rift—a pulsating tear between dimensions that radiated both awe and terror. The light pouring from it was blinding, streaked with shadowy tendrils, as if the rift itself was alive, struggling to consume the world around it.
Kaelron stood at the heart of the storm, his body a conduit for unimaginable power. The relic, crown fragments, and his merging magic all surged in unison, their energies intertwining in a precarious balance. Shadows and light flickered across his form, as though the Maw and the Bonds were wrestling for control of his very soul.
"I won't let it end like this," Kaelron muttered, his voice low but resolute. His hands trembled as he focused his magic, reaching deep into the rift's chaotic energy to stabilize its violent pulsations.
