The sky above Earth had not changed.
Blue still stretched endlessly over oceans and continents. Clouds still drifted lazily across the horizon. Cities still breathed with the quiet rhythm of humanity rebuilding after the age of towers.
And yet…
The **world itself was ending**.
Not in destruction.
In **completion**.
George stood alone at the edge of the Arctic sea, where frozen waters met the fractured bones of an ancient ruin that had only emerged a month ago.
For centuries the structure had slept beneath the polar crust.
Now the ice had split apart around it like a wound reopening.
A cathedral of black stone jutted from the ocean floor, half submerged, its architecture older than the towers themselves.
Kas landed beside him, her wings folding into a smooth cloak of iridescent scales.
"Let me guess," she said casually. "Another dungeon."
Typhon emerged from the ice ridge behind them, the ground subtly reshaping beneath his claws.
"No," George said quietly.
