It was not in the human language.
It was not any language that Atticus was familiar with.
But somehow, Atticus knew what the man had said.
Come.
The moment Atticus heard it, control over his body was seized.
His figure shot forward, wind whipping around him as he came to a stop, hovering mid-air in front of the seated man.
The figure's gaze bore into him, unblinking, as if dissecting his very soul. Its eyes were pure gold, radiating a soft, otherworldly light.
Atticus's breath froze. He forced himself to stay calm, but his mind was a storm of thoughts. He couldn't move, no matter how much he tried. He attempted everything, every single one of his powers, yet he couldn't even lift a finger.
'Ozeroth?' he called inwardly.
"Bo—"
Ozeroth's voice was cut off as the figure spoke again, its deep tone rumbling like an ancient mountain shifting.
