Kael waited.
Time unfolded in thin layers in the cave—drips that trickle, breaths that catch, shadows that crush against the stone. He stood still, feeling each sound as if it were an arrow pointed inward. Patience wasn't a virtue for him; it was calculation. He had let the others run, let the net swell and expose itself. Now he could hear—there, outside—the roar that had grown into a sea of mana.
First came the subtle tremor, then the air seemed to vibrate like a harp string. Kael closed his eyes and, for a moment, thought he might laugh nervously. It wasn't just a group; it was an entire continent of intentions. Magical auras, millions of strands of mana, wove themselves into a dense cord around that spot: covens, circles, elders, apprentices—ten thousand witches, at least, forming a collar of fire around the hiding place.
