The dawn broke over the battered ruins of the battlefield like a pale promise. Smoke still curled from charred trees and shattered earth, but the oppressive weight of war had lifted — if only slightly.
The cities and outposts along the frontier breathed cautiously, their streets no longer thick with the roar of battle or the echo of collapsing stone. Varnok surges had dropped to a trickle. Sightings were now rare, almost dismissed as paranoia. The world seemed to exhale, collective nerves momentarily eased.
In Elandor, Kael moved like a ghost of the storm itself — a blur of motion impossible to track with the naked eye. His senses were keyed to the slightest ripple in Essence, a flicker of corrupted presence that betrayed any Varnok lingering too close.
Each encounter was swift and merciless.
A low-tier Dregspawn Varnok tried to skulk near the ruined eastern wall. Kael's hand flashed, a crackle of Storm Essence igniting his fingertips. Before the creature could hiss, he unleashed a whip of lightning that shredded the beast's spine in a single pulse — less than a tenth of a second.
A small pack of Strays had been spotted near the river bend — scavengers feeding off the remnants of war. They never saw him coming. Kael's body twisted in a tornado of electric fury, slashing and striking faster than thought itself. Bones shattered, dark blood splattered the stones, and silence reclaimed the air.
Yet even as he wiped away every last trace of Varnok menace, Kael's eyes flickered with unease. The peace was too quiet, too fragile. Beneath the surface of calm, he felt the faintest tremor — like a shadow shifting just beyond perception.
His storm was still brewing.
Back in the city, the war-weary citizens tentatively resumed their lives. Markets reopened, children returned to play, and the hum of daily commerce slowly filled the streets again. But whispered conversations lingered in corners — tales of a darker force still watching, waiting for the moment to strike.
Kael paused atop the shattered battlements overlooking the city, his gaze distant. The Origin-tier battles had ended, but the true game was far from over.
His storm raged silently inside — a promise, a warning. When the next wave came, he would be ready.
Because the real war hadn't begun.