The sky split open as the citadel of Veyrath erupted in a storm of fire and ruin. From the ridge above the valley, the Black Knight raised his blade, its edge catching the infernal glow of the explosion. His army stood silent behind him, banners whipping in the ash‑laden wind, their faces lit by the burning spires of the once‑holy fortress. The air trembled with the echo of the detonation—a sound that marked the end of an empire and the birth of vengeance. Below, the ravaged earth quaked beneath the march of armored legions. The knight’s second‑in‑command turned to him, voice low and grim: “The prophecy was true. Nightfall has come.” Without reply, the Black Knight descended toward the inferno, each step scattering embers like dying stars. The castle’s collapse was not victory—it was the signal for the final war, and the world itself seemed to hold its breath before the next strike of destiny.