The glacial ice held the ocean canyon in unbroken, glassy perfection.
Not a single bubble rose from the seabed.
Suspended three inches before Sera’s nose, Moros’s blackened palm remained frozen like a museum relic carved from volcanic glass.
His necrotic Qi hovered in mid-flare, stiff and motionless.
Sera leaned back against the cool basalt lintel, her hand pressed against her aching ribs.
“He looks ridiculous like that,” Sera murmured, her voice carrying through the thin pocket of dry air.
Beside her, Mina adjusted the collar of her torn tunic and wiped a streak of blood from her temple.
“He chose to dive into someone else’s garden,” Mina said quietly. “Now he is a fence post.”
