The vortex's pull was relentless, a dark force of nature that defied logic or reason. Elara's frost-coated platform shattered beneath her feet, leaving her teetering on the edge of an abyss that seemed alive with malevolence. She tried to steady herself, her hands gripping her staff as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.
Her body trembled, her core screaming in protest from overexertion. The magic that had flowed so freely moments ago now felt sluggish, unresponsive. She tried to summon her strength, to resist the pull, but her limbs felt like lead, and her breathing grew shallow and strained.
Her gaze darted upward, to where Luca was in midair, his blade arcing down to sever another thrashing tentacle. His dark coat billowed behind him, and his expression, usually so composed and smug, was now focused and fierce. Elara opened her mouth to call out to him, to warn him, but no sound escaped her lips.
She couldn't breathe.
