The air grew taut as Donovan, Theran, Miriam, and Mikhail exchanged a brief, wordless glance, their eyes gleaming with an intensity that only desperation could forge.
The oppressive weight of Lyerin's presence was a constant pressure in their minds—a predator watching, waiting, taunting.
The faint hum of their mana gathering reached a crescendo, the energy pooling into their hands, swirling like miniature storms about to unleash hell.
Lyerin tilted his head, his grin widening. He stood completely still, the picture of calm, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.
His dark coat fluttered slightly in the breeze, the moonlight casting elongated shadows across his sharp, angular features.
