A thousand arrows flew. Legacy raised one golden hand. The arrows stopped mid-air, turned to dust, and reformed into a shield of crystallized night. The Magikill mages tried to drain its energy. Legacy simply absorbed their spells, grew taller, and spoke a single command word that echoed in their minds: .
“We are losing,” whispered General Meric, his stick-figure frame trembling despite his bronze armor. “Our miners are exhausted. Our archers have fired their last enchanted arrow. And the prophecy… the prophecy of the ‘Golden Unit’ was a myth.” stick war legacy 7723