The horizon stretched endlessly, a glassy expanse of water reflecting pale lightning. Asha stood motionless, her long coat shifting faintly in the charged air. The Verge, the edge of the world, was silent, timeless, and boundless, a place where reality thinned and shadows lingered.

Her silver staff hummed in her grip, the polished surface flickering faintly with each crackle above. She hadn’t come here by chance. The Shadowmarked was waiting, tethered to this void by a curse older than memory. It had drawn her here, a silent summons she could no longer resist.

A shadow emerged in the distance, its edges blurred as though unraveling into smoke. It stood still, yet its presence pressed against her like a physical weight. Asha planted her staff into the water, its light flaring in defiance.

“I know what you are,” she said, her voice steady. “I know your name.”

The figure tilted its head, and a faint whisper drifted across the expanse, words she couldn’t understand. Asha stepped closer, each movement met with a growing cold that gnawed at her resolve. When lightning flared again, the Shadowmarked’s hollow gaze pierced her, its jagged grin twisting with malice.

“No more,” she said, raising the staff. “The pact is broken. You’ll have no more of our kind.”

The creature moved, ripples spreading beneath its feet. The storm screamed as the air seemed to shatter.

“Come,” Asha whispered, her light blazing. “Let’s see if you remember how to fall.”