The Codex predicted it.
The first wave would come not from the sky—but from the sea.
We saw them before sunrise: golden banners cresting on black waves. Ships carved from bone. Warlocks with no eyes chanting beneath starless sails.
I stood on the north cliff, wind in my hair, fire in my veins.
Astraea beside me.
Lilith behind me.
Yuria already leaping into battle.
The shard was gone.
The world was unraveling.
But we were still here.
And that, I realized, was the most powerful magic left.
