đ¸ď¸
Seraphina stood motionless in the tunnel's center, her grey eyes tracking the dissipating wisps of alchemical fog. Her [Vital Sight] still screamed warnings at herâphantom echoes of the overwhelming power signature that had just vanished. The ability felt raw, overloaded, like staring directly into the sun and then trying to read by candlelight.
Marcus pressed himself against the tunnel wall, his tactical manual forgotten at his feet among the stone debris. His breathing came in short, sharp gasps that echoed off the carved walls. "That... that was..."
"Gone." Thomlin's sword drooped in his grip, the blade's tip scraping against the floor. His knuckles had gone white around the hilt, and a muscle in his jaw twitched repeatedly. "Just... gone."
