The whispering around us grew louder, a cacophony of voices that echoed through the clearing, bouncing off the trees like something alive. The oppressive energy felt like it was closing in, constricting, making the air thick and difficult to breathe. I could almost feel it sinking into my skin, an invisible weight pressing down on my chest. The runes on the altar pulsed erratically, their light flickering in a chaotic rhythm that matched the throbbing pressure around us.
I glanced over at Lyan, who was barely visible under the shimmering cloak, his eyes fixed on me with a look that spoke volumes—a mix of concern and readiness. I nodded at him, giving a subtle hand signal to hold his position. He returned the nod, his gaze shifting back to the altar. Anastasia was beside him, her eyes wide, her hand gripping her staff as if it was the only thing tethering her to this reality.
