The mana cocoon enveloping Cliff shimmered with an intense bluish light, pulsating like a living entity. His body was paralyzed, as if bound by an unseen force, and all sensation faded. It was no longer his to command; his limbs refused to move, his heart raced wildly, and his mind swirled in a chaotic storm.
His thoughts unraveled, tangling and merging into a stream of fragmented memories. For a fleeting moment, Cliff struggled to hold onto a single coherent idea, but even that slipped through his grasp like sand through fingers. His vision blurred, and his heavy eyelids began to close.
Within the recesses of his consciousness, he was adrift. Images from his past resurfaced, vivid and raw. Moments of triumph, loss, and resolve played like fleeting specters. He saw himself as a young blacksmith, hammering steel under the tutelage of his father. The heat of the forge, the clang of metal, the dream of creating something greater—all of it returned in startling clarity.
