Chapter 225. Fall of the Dreadmaw Pack

Third-Person POV

Celeste watched in stunned silence as Byron froze, his eyes unfocused and wild with torment. He couldn’t even form words; the sheer madness churning in his mind was unbearable. He clutched at his skull with trembling fingers, as if trying to rip away the crushing vertigo The Goddess Rene had imposed upon him. Each anguished movement seemed only to deepen his agony, and for a moment, it looked as though Byron might collapse under the weight of his own suffering.

Seizing their opening, Zephyr and Eryndor sprang forward as one. Zephyr’s face was pale, his grief-fueled determination stark in his eyes, while Eryndor—his cheeks wet with tears—rushed in beside him. Neither hesitated. Neither faltered.

Eryndor hardly noticed his own sobs. The Goddess’s death had struck him like a blow to the chest; his lungs burned with grief and rage. Yet amid that sorrow another change was unfolding in his body: he felt astonishingly lighter, as though a great bur