"A summoning," he whispered, voice trembling with horrified fascination. "But reversed. Not to bind, but to be bound by it." He traced one line, feeling the unpleasant suction of mana gripping his fingertip. Smart—let the caster sacrifice their own will to anchor something worse. He shuddered.
Rodion limped closer, optic shutter flicking as he scanned. A cascade of small gear clicks echoed softly.
Mikhailis's jaw set. "Lucky us—we're following in their footsteps."
He flicked open a vial of neutralizing sand, sprinkling a thin trail across the warped glyph. The powder fizzed, forming microscopic seal beads that would dull the rune's pull. Not a cure, but a plaster over an open wound.
