Meanwhile, Draeven and his companions emerged from the ruin. Stone dust clung to their shoulders, and none of them looked particularly pleased.
"Well," T'zarek grumbled, brushing off a chunk of debris from his chest. "That was a waste of time."
"No relics. Not even scraps," Vek'tal muttered, glancing over his shoulder one last time.
Draeven didn't reply. His gaze was fixed far off into the distance. A faint pulse of unnatural lightning lit the sky in flickers of violet. His brow furrowed.
"That light…" he muttered. "You feel that mana signature?"
The other two turned, nodding slowly as the pulse echoed through the air like a heartbeat.
"Looks like the Magus is still busy," Draeven said, weighing his options.
He glanced around, then stopped—his eyes locking onto the crater where he'd fought Earth before.
It wasn't obvious at first. But when he focused, he saw it—the ground looked like it was… shifting.
"You guys see that?" he asked. "It's moving."
