The cavern shouted, not just fell apart.
Each pillar and ivory rib trembled and fractured, tumbling into the fury of swirling bone and darkness outside. What had been barriers was now nothing but emptiness: a cyclone of death, the Gate's storm itself awoke with rage.
As rib-like shards ripped past them, screeching like arrows through the air, Draven's form coiled protectively over Elaria. As the ground swayed beneath them, his claws sunk into the bone floor to keep them both anchored.
With his voice rumbling into her chest, he hissed, "Hold tight.”
With her hands free, Elaria curled into his ripped flesh and grasped at him. Her fingers felt the heat of his blood, his heart thumping like a war drum. Instead, though, she felt a surge of vigor. She was no longer bound. Her wolf presse
