The crisp cold air of the tundra was a welcome reprieve from the chaos of the storm, though the eerie silence that followed felt unsettling. As Xavier and Luna walked through the desolate landscape, their breath visible in the frigid air, a quiet tension hung between them. The battle had ended, but the shadow of the Forgotten One's words still lingered in Xavier's mind.
"You cannot escape the sword's fate."
The cursed blade Anathema remained quiet now, sheathed at Xavier's side, though its presence felt heavier than ever. His fingers unconsciously brushed the hilt as he walked, as if to reassure himself that he was still in control. But the truth was undeniable—the sword's hold on him was growing stronger with each passing battle. The more power he unleashed, the more it demanded. He could feel it gnawing at his soul, slowly but surely.
Luna, walking beside him, finally broke the silence. "That was… unlike anything I've ever seen."