When Azriel's eyes opened, he found himself once again on the onyx shore, staring at the ink-black water.
This time, the wind wasn't howling. The clouds hadn't turned dark, and there were no screams of gods clashing in the distance.
It was silent.
So silent that Azriel found it unsettling.
It had only been a few days since he had first stood on this very shore, yet it already felt like a lifetime ago.
"Huh? W-what happened?"
"His Majesty…!"
"Yeah! Finally done fighting!"
"Ah, I thought my arms would fall off from swinging my sword..."
Azriel turned, his gaze falling on the soldiers slumped on the ground. Somehow, Joaquin had managed to teleport everyone to the onyx shore—those who were still alive, at least.
Without delay, Azriel made sure to subtly release traces of his aura, just enough to create the impression of subconscious leakage. It was a precaution, nothing more.