On the same day as the battle between Gregor and Kael, the Arcane Council made their move.
With most of the King's forces deployed to conquer Bryndis, Valoria—the royal capital—stood vulnerable. Only twenty thousand soldiers remained to guard its towering walls, a fragile defense against the storm about to descend upon them.
Above the city, Zarathor hovered in the sky, his gaze fixed on the fortress below. His expression was cold, calculating, as he prepared to unleash devastation upon Valoria's defenses. Thirteen loyal acolytes, clad in dark robes, floated behind him in silent anticipation.
"It's time," Zarathor murmured.
He raised his hand toward the heavens, the air crackling as he began to summon his power. Energy surged, forming into a sphere above his palm—a spell of the eighth tier, rivaling the destructive force of Kael's proton sphere.
