Inside the chamber located at the bottom-most part of the Academy—so far below the ground it was said even sound refused to travel—ancient seals pulsed faintly against obsidian pillars carved with forgotten tongues.
The walls, lined with ever-burning runes, flickered erratically as though even the enchantments were straining against the energy gathering within. The floor itself, once smooth white marble, was now cracked in spiraling veins of crimsoned ice, crawling outward from the orb where Silvermist was held.
She hovered mid-air inside a translucent sphere, the containment orb glowing with layered enchantments—sigils that twisted like serpents in molten light.
But even they flickered, fracturing like glass about to break. Inside, Silvermist's eyes were shut, her hair fanned out like threads of moonlight suspended in water, and her breaths were shallow—each exhale visible in the air, misty and laced with frost.
