As the dust settled, Moris, the brown cat, froze mid-stretch. Its ears twitched, and its wide eyes locked on the pile of rubble where the altar had fallen, crushing the Ruiner beneath it.
The calm didn't last. Moris' fur bristled, standing on end like a startled porcupine. A low growl rumbled from its throat, sharp and warning.
Ivaim felt it too. A strange heaviness filled the air, sending a chill down his spine. His brows knit together as unease crept over him. Something wasn't right.
The rubble began to shake, faintly at first, then more violently, as though something beneath was trying to claw its way free. The sound of shifting stones filled the silence.
A grim thought struck Ivaim.
Walkers leave behind magical artifacts when they die... but what happens when a Ruiner dies?
