Gilgamel narrowed his eyes at the drifting pink mist as he guided the [Float] magic spell downward. With a faint hum of mana, he, Dodo, and Dean slowly descended through the cold mountain air until their boots crunched onto the snow near the mist-shrouded temple.
The Fire Orb's warmth flickered around Gilgamel's shoulders, but the air felt heavier here, charged with something that made his skin prickle.
Dodo landed with a soft thud beside him, nose twitching at the scent of the strange mist.
Flurry circled overhead once before settling on a frost-crusted branch, its feathers puffed against the chill.
Behind them, muffled footsteps and low voices signaled the approach of other wizards. Shapes moved through the treeline — cloaked figures, staves tapping the snow, eyes drawn to the drifting fog that hid the temple's broken archways like a waiting mouth.
One by one, more seekers gathered under the hush of falling snow — all watching the same swirling mist.
