In the darkness of her prison, Destruction waited—not for the eons to pass, this time, but for the second surge of Remnant magic she knew would come.

  She still knelt in the heart of the stone chamber, wrapped tightly in chains forged from the darkest magic. Shrouded in near impenetrable shadows, the room resonated with her pent-up fury. The jagged edges of the thorns encircling her thrummed with a malevolent energy, casting eerie, flickering lights upon her bound form. The shackles bit into her flesh, sharp as regret and cold as the loneliness of the passing centuries. And yet, Destruction remained motionless, her eyes closed, conserving her strength for the moment she had so patiently awaited these last five thousand years.

  A chilling silence weighed upon the chamber, broken only by the subtle creaks of her chains as they adjusted to her faint shifts. The air was thick with the scent of burnt sacrifices, lingering like a ghastly memory. Her vivid, fiery red hair cascaded in wild tendrils, mingling with the flames that occasionally erupted from her body, only to be suppressed by the runes of her imprisonment. She was the most terrifying entity within this cold, unforgiving place, an embodiment of pure, unrelenting power.

  And she knew it.

  Time dragged on, each moment a searing eternity, but her resolve did not waver.

  At any moment, the surge would hit her.

  Any second, now, she would snare her prey.

  Thus, she waited.

  And waited.

  And waited, still as ever, for what she knew was rightfully hers.

  When the moment finally came, it hit her like a whisper of freedom. It resonated within her very soul like a tremor in the depths of her being, a current of crackling magic that rippled through time itself. Heat brewed within her, her veins aglow with molten fury, and her breath hitched with the intoxicating rush of her own volatile magic.

  And oh, how it awoke her.

  With a sudden, fierce intensity, Destruction’s eyes snapped open. They burned brighter than the core of a blazing sun, twin orbs of molten gold seething with an ancient, unbridled rage. Her eyes narrowed, adjusting to the dim light, but she saw everything. Every crack in the walls, every shifting shadow. Her power surged in response to the magical influx. The very cave quivered as the heat from her body scorched the air.

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  It was too much, and she couldn’t hold still any longer. She tugged against her bindings, and they ripped fresh gashes in her skin with each subtle movement. She stifled a guttural yell as the pain from the chains mingled with the ecstasy of her awakening strength.

  The walls themselves recoiled as she drank in the rush of her own magic, accepting the gift of its power. She could feel the jolts of magic spreading through her body, weaving through her form, reigniting every dormant flame.

  Empowered by the rush of energy, she pushed harder against her restraints. Magic surged through her veins, defying the enchanted vines that held her in place, and each pulse of her wicked heart ignited the long-dead embers of her inner strength. At first, the chains held. They wrapped around her, painfully persistent and holding fast, until—yes, there it was.

  They gave.

  It was only a fraction, barely an inch, but the victory was more symbolic than anything else. Her fingers curled and stretched as she savored her small win, and this time, the restraints did not tighten. Though they held her in place, she could finally breathe easily, and the pain began to subside.

  Her sister’s magic was finally—finally—fading.

  The distant Remnant pulsed again, buzzing with life, a steady heartbeat in the suffocating gloom. Normally, the energy came in sporadic bursts, but this time was different. This time, the magic sang to her. Somewhere beyond her prison walls, this mortal had succeeded in establishing their core.

  She sneered.

  Excellent.

  Now, to reward this newest Child of Ruin.

  The trapped goddess closed her eyes and focused her full energy on her own core. The magic within her coiled and writhed, humming through her body like a song as she connected with her Remnant.

  Across the expanse, she met its call, and Destruction returned a song of her own.

  She unleashed a steady pulse of energy. Though this constant heartbeat would slowly drain her power, it was a command that beckoned the Remnant toward her. Her champion, whether knowingly or not, would feel the subtle pull, and that compulsion would lead right to her prison. Compelled by her magic and mastery over their core, her champion would come, drawn by the very magic that now thrummed through their blood. They would set her free, and the world would remember the true meaning of fear.

  The shadows around her shrank away from her body, retreating from the sheer force of her will. Destruction’s eyes gleamed in the darkness like burning embers in the void. Each pulse of her servant’s magic brought her closer to breaking free.

  For now, she waited, a frightful figure in the heart of a dying darkness, already salivating over the chaos that would ensue. Her time was near, and nothing—neither shadow nor thorn—could keep her from her purpose.

  The world that had discarded her would soon remember her name.

  Her newest servant would come to her, beckoned by her irresistible pull, and the mortal who carried her magic would set her free—whether they wanted to or not.

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