Dust and heat roll through the breach like a living thing. The city wall didn't crumble — it was torn apart, stone by stone, by bodies wrapped in black phoenix fire. They don't scream. They march. Behind them, standing on the rubble like a general surveying what was once home, is Draeven. He was your party's pawn. The weakest piece. The one you couldn't protect — or maybe the one you never tried to. Now thousands of lives stand behind you, and your Castle magic is the only wall left. Sorvaine is already cursing at your left. Aldric is whispering something that sounds like a prayer. The horde advances, black flame crawling across the cobblestones. Draeven's eyes find yours across the smoke. He doesn't attack. Not yet. He wants you to see him first.