Atticus's cold gaze flickered as his eyes turned to the sky.
'What?'
The sun had just set, yet it felt as though he had been thrusted into another world. Atticus couldn't explain it, it felt strange. It felt dangerous.
His eyes darted backward, landing on the ominous mist pouring forward from behind him. They widened as he registered its speed and the distance it had already traveled.
The mist surged ahead, devouring the desert at an incredible pace.
'It's fast,' Atticus noted calmly, though his mind worked rapidly.
Despite the darkness, his sharp perception pierced the night's veil. He saw everything, the shifting sands, the faint stars, the encroaching shadows. His elements might be sealed, but his mana control and perception remained razor sharp.
Turning his focus forward, he asked, "What happens at night?" His voice was calm, calculated.
The spirit paused, its miniature form staring at him. 'He's sharp,' it thought.
