The roots of the Citadel were no longer silent. For centuries, the Under-City and the Void-slums had been the graveyard of Aurelius's grand ambition—a lightless, forgotten pit where failed dreams, discarded biological experiments, and broken bodies were dumped like industrial slag. But as the amethyst clouds of the Void rift began to churn with a new, rhythmic pulse, the graveyard was transformed into a womb.
Lucien Valerius stood at the prow of a floating obsidian monolith, his violet eyes burning with a cold, predatory light that seemed to pierce through the dimensional haze. Beside him, Kaelen moved with the restless, kinetic energy of a caged cyclone. The shifter's silver fur was bristling with static, and his amber eyes surveyed the army they had raised from the wreckage of the abyss with a grim, warrior's pride.
