A dying cloud of dark magicules still hung around Fedlimid, the air charged with the strange and lingering presence of something half-formed, yet powerful.
The swirling black miasma thinned with each breath he took, fading as though it could never be fully shaken, yet slowly growing weaker. It felt like a tangible thing, one that clung to him, a reminder of what he had lost. The quiet in the room was almost suffocating.
Arthur stepped closer to the door of the room, his gaze flicking around cautiously, ensuring there was no one else present. His mind whirled with questions he hadn't dared to ask until now. He wasn't sure if he was prepared for the answers, but the need to know pressed on him.
