The night deepened, shrouded in thick mist as Morvane fought alongside his shadow beasts. Each movement of his hands summoned torrents of air magic, aiding his beasts in devouring the hostile spirits. The battlefield was chaotic—howls, screeches, and bursts of energy filled the forest.
But then, Morvane felt it—a strange heaviness in his chest, as if something vital was slipping away. The flow of air magic weakened with each attack, becoming thinner, more fragile. From a nearby tree, Drevon perched silently, his sharp eyes observing the battle.
"So," Drevon's voice cut through the din, "it's not permanent after all." He smirked, his fangs glinting in the faint moonlight. "Your power is fading. Soon, it will be gone entirely."
Morvane froze for a moment, looking at his trembling hands. His breaths grew shallow, and he realized Drevon was right. His air magic was draining fast, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. In mere minutes, his magic was completely gone.
