The northern storm made landfall three days after the earthquake.
I watched from the war room as reports flooded in—wind speeds exceeding anything in recorded history, waves crashing thirty feet high, entire coastal villages swept away despite evacuation efforts.
"Casualties?" I asked, my voice steady despite the nausea churning in my stomach.
"Still counting," Ethan replied grimly. "Most people evacuated to Temple shelters as ordered. But some refused to leave—fishermen who wouldn't abandon their boats, merchants protecting inventory, elderly who couldn't travel. Current estimate is two hundred dead, five hundred missing."
Two hundred dead. Five hundred missing.
Because I'd chosen to end the magical protection.
"The Temple shelters held?" Darius asked.
"Yes. Miraya's people did excellent work. Everyone who evacuated survived." Ethan paused. "But the ones who stayed..."
