The air inside the tower was dense, heavy with the scent of mildew, decay, and something metallic—like rusted iron and blood. The faint light from the runes flickered weakly on the cracked stone walls, casting jagged shadows across the chamber. The skeletal figure on the platform lay motionless, its hollow sockets staring blankly into the void, yet an unshakable sense of presence clung to it, like an ember of something ancient still smoldering in the dark.
Caroline stood frozen, her hand pressed against her chest. The pressure—the pull—was almost unbearable now, like claws wrapped around her ribcage, squeezing tighter with every breath. Ezra stood close to her, his sword drawn, his gaze locked on her face as if he could see the battle waging inside her.
“Caroline,” he said softly, his vo
