The golden light binding Selene, Nyra, and Seraphina constricted like a tightening noose. Lucien heard a muffled, agonizing cry tear from Seraphina’s lips as her silver aura, the very essence of her soul, was ripped away and channeled into the Sanctum’s crystalline walls.
"Stop!" Lucien roared, his voice cracking with desperation. He lunged toward the chasm, but the high priest flicked a finger, and the gravity between them solidified into a wall of pressurized air, slamming Lucien back against the pulsating root-trees.
"The harvest is not an act of cruelty, Lucien. It is an act of maintenance," the priest said, his voice echoing with the detachment of a machine. "Astralthorn was a nursery. The Wilds are a furnace. And you? You are the fuel that bridges the two."
The Alpha moved beside
