Drawing through his punctured lungs, he sent not air through his mouth, but a small, minuscule wave of darkness, acting as momentary air. It filled his lungs just enough to give him the strength for a singular word, keeping his hand outstretched as it reached for unseen hope.
"...Arrive..."
It had little meaning on the surface to Andraste, but his hand stopped, his eyes widened--all at the sudden explosion of mana that erupted from the young man's outstretched hand.
What is this? Andraste thought.
All at once, the air fell to a chilling cold; a veil concealed the surrounding area with an abyssal darkness. Below the boots of the knight, the mud he stood on was transfigured into a blackened ooze that attempted to swallow him.
A territorial spell…? No, this is something completely different. The boy possessed something like this up his sleeve? But, that incantation--could it even be called one? Andraste thought.
