The air in the ruin felt still, oppressive even, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the next move. Eryndor stood, her hand still clutching the rune on her palm, the glowing mark now dull but still warm beneath her fingers. The eerie presence of the figure lingered in the back of her mind, a haunting whisper that refused to let her go.
Seris had stepped away, pacing near the stone pillar where the figure had once stood. His face was tight, his brow furrowed in deep thought. Kaelen, ever the cynic, stood with his arms crossed, leaning against a wall, but there was a wariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He was always the one who kept his cool, but now… now, even he seemed rattled.
“It’s gone,” Kaelen said, breaking the silence, his voice tinged with something
