The wind whispered through the ruins of Mirrors, or atleast what used to be the town of Mirrors.
Broken stone, splintered wood, and pools of dark, congealed blood were draped across the landscape like twisted decorations.
What should've been a gentle breeze felt ominous, as if carrying the anguished echoes of those who had perished.
Steve's boots pressed into the soft, blood-stained earth. Every sensory warning screamed at him to look away—yet he couldn't.
His gaze anchored on the ground as if in denial—until something tugged him upright. A breeze brushed past his cheek, rustling fallen leaves and stirring a low hum in the air that was somehow alive.
And that's when he saw it: flickers of motion out of the corner of his eyes, distant yet suffused with a dreadful purpose.
He looked up. Every pair of eyes around — The Rookie Magic Guards, as well as the B-Rank Magic Guards —had grown wide with terror.
