The pulse rolled outward like a shockwave, flattening the grass and bending the trees low. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
Then the ground cracked.
Lines of pale light tore through the earth beneath the figure's feet, spreading outward like veins. The air screamed as pressure built, and the figure finally moved—not stepping, but shifting, as though reality itself made room for it.
Rhys braced, feet sliding back as the force washed over him. The threads flared painfully bright, feeding him a thousand instinctive warnings at once.
"Now!" he shouted.
Caria didn't hesitate. She charged straight through the pressure, blade blazing, her shout turning into a battle cry that cut through the roar of the battlefield. Her strike landed—not on flesh, but on resistance itself—sending a shockwave rippling outward.
