The silence lingered.
Not tense. Not threatening. Just still.
Like the world had finally exhaled.
The last of the distorted energy had faded minutes ago. The stone floor, once lit with fractured resonance lines and torn elemental threads, now lay cold and smooth beneath the observation deck. The only movement was the slow drift of residual vapor trailing up from Damien's skin—thin curls of mist evaporating into the dome's artificial air.
No more pulses. No more tremors. No system errors.
The dome, for the first time in hours, was quiet.
And then—
"Mana stream has stabilized," the technician said, breath catching. "Readings are returning… slowly."
Kael leaned closer to the glass. His arms were folded, jaw set, but his eyes were sharp—calculating.
"What are you seeing?" Dominic asked, not taking his eyes off his son.
The technician didn't answer at first.
