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“To begin with, the damage on the Mortal Realm is not small,” the Tower Master said, and his voice carried the dry fatigue of a man who had been counting losses since dawn. “Pisarapia is now burned. The spring that held pure Myst has vanished from the world. Three Heroes died, and scores of Transcendents fell.”
He let the catalog continue because it had to be spoken aloud at least once. “Below that level, the casualties are beyond measure. Five churches burned until nothing remained. Three kingdoms collapsed.”
Ketal listened without interrupting. The Tower Master wet his lips and finished the thought.
“If I am honest, it is terrible.”
There was no telling how long recovery would take. Perhaps some places would never recover at all. The wound Necrobix had carved into the world felt like a scar that would not fade with time.
“And the thing lived here only ten days,” the Tower Master added. “A mere handful of dawns, and yet the damage looks as if it were written with iron.”
Ketal exhaled softly and let the silence sit. The Tower Master did not leave him there.
“But in the end, you killed Necrobix,” he said, as if setting a counterweight on the other side of the scale.
One of the Four Pillars of Hell, a being that had fought gods during the age of descent, had fallen. The Tower Master, who disliked dramatics, allowed himself a small, lopsided smi...
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