The atmosphere in the watchtower was suffocating, heavy with the sharp bite of ozone and the cold, metallic tang of Victoria’s magic. They stood in a tight circle around the scrying crystal, a jagged shard of amethyst embedded in a stone pedestal, its heart pulsing with slow, violet light like a living thing.
Victoria leaned over it, fingers hovering just above the surface, close enough to stir the mist within but never quite touching. The glow painted her face ghost-pale, shadows hollowing her eyes.
“Look,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath.
The smoke inside the crystal churned, then thinned. At first there was only darkness, shifting shapes, formless and restless. Then the image sharpened. The eastern ridge appeared. And it was crawling.
A tide of pale bodies flooded t
