Dylan’s p.o.v.
A heavy silence settled over the gathered crowd as the last murmur of conversation faded into nothingness. Even the torches lining the walls seemed to dim, their flames shivering against the sudden weight of magic pressing into the chamber.
A slow, deliberate drumbeat echoed through the space—deep, reverberating, like the heartbeat of something ancient and waiting. It thrummed through my bones, steady and rhythmic, yet each beat felt heavier than the last like an unseen force was pulling at my soul.
The women on the platform stood frozen in place, their bodies locked by the glowing runes beneath their feet. The symbols twisted and turned, moving like serpents beneath the stone, coiling around their ankles, crawling up their legs like they were sinking into the very ground
