Lyan and Alicia stood in the courtyard, the tension around them almost tangible. The aftermath of the explosions left the air heavy, tinged with the acrid scent of burnt magic and scorched earth. The remains of the assassins were scattered around them—twisted bodies, dark stains on the cobblestones, remnants of magical artifacts glinting in the dim moonlight. The scene was a mess, but Lyan knew there was something they could learn here—something important.
With a deep breath, Lyan let his hands hover above the ground, a faint blue glow surrounding his fingers. He closed his eyes, channeling the lightning-infused wind magic that Griselda lent him. The energy flowed through his fingertips, swirling along the surface of the courtyard, lifting dust and debris gently into the air. The lightning danced across the scorched earth, revealing the aftermath beneath the cover of darkness. The calm hum of his magic seemed to ease the tension in the air, if only slightly.
