The whole scene with the Ghost Council's witch and how she'd appeared all high and mighty and then got stabbed through the chest like a scarecrow — felt like some brutal advertisement.
Even so, none of the other wizards made a move to leave. Not a single foot shuffled toward the woods. Sure, they were afraid — who wouldn't be? But this broken fragment of a secret realm was too much to just give up on.
Especially for wandering wizards, folks who didn't have an affiliation or fixed resources. If they wanted to climb the ladder and grow stronger, they needed an opportunity like this.
And judging by Dean's bored face, he clearly had no interest in chasing them away. So the smart ones decided they'd just wait. Maybe someone braver or dumber would test the mist first.
Gilgamel, meanwhile, couldn't tear his gaze from the drifting pink mist. It curled at the broken temple gates like a living thing.
He narrowed his eyes and secretly used his [Appraisal] on it.
