The silence that had gripped Mourning Manor after the spirits’ outcry was shattered by the frantic sounds of the outer perimeter being breached. Gillian lay on the cold floor, his vision blurred, his senses struggling to reassemble themselves. The air still carried the metallic, ozone-heavy tang of the recently departed spirit ritual. He pushed himself up, his muscles screaming in protest. Every movement felt like dragging lead weights through quicksand. His shoulder, burnt and blackened by the shaman’s dark magic, pulsed with a relentless, rhythmic agony that threatened to claim his consciousness once more. He looked up, his gaze fixing on the grand hall’s entrance. The mercenaries had finished their work on the outer gates and were now flooding into the central courtyard.
They moved wit
