The living room was a hollow shell of its former self, filled with the wreckage of shattered furniture and the swirling remnants of the dark mist. Gillian stood amidst the debris, his body a map of agony. His breath came in ragged, wet rattles, and the taste of metallic blood was overwhelming. Across the room, the shaman was gathering his strength once more, his tattered robes whipping around him as if caught in a localized tempest. Gillian’s vision flickered, the world darkening at the edges, but he forced his feet to remain planted. He was the anchor, and he would not let the house succumb.
Behind him, huddled near the grand archway that led to the dining hall, Ghea watched him with wide, terrified eyes. She had been caught in the crossfire of the initial clash, her hands pressed tightl
