The grease-slicked pit erupts brighter, and the furnace roar swallows the Ancient Entity’s last cry. Fire ladders into the night, painting the frozen marsh in orange and gold.
Sleeping birds blast from the reeds in a frantic cloud. Heat shimmers over the breached hollow, and the heavy, expectant air finally breaks apart like a held breath released.
At the edge of the light, three cloaked figures step into view. Their faces are still half-shadowed, but the blaze catches their hoods and the glint of wet marsh on their boots.
The nearest cloak turns, and the figure’s face comes clear in the firelight, calm and intent, watching the pit as if this is exactly where they meant to arrive.
The Hooded Figure
So. It finally shows itself.
The other two slow beside the first, their attention fixed on the burning breach and the survivors around it. Whatever they are, they are not startled by the ruin, only revealed by it.
Zhurrem
There they are. The ones the marsh was waiting to expose.