The air inside the Sanctum was thick, heavy, almost suffocating. The Watcher loomed above them, its form fluttering just above, unfinished as if still in conception, its presence fixed and crushing. Tension clung to the air, an energy that distorted the very fabric around them. Elira's breath caught as she stood beside Kael, her heart thumping in her head, her very fibers wailing at her to flee. But she could not move. She could not look away from the Watcher. Its power held her in its grasp, pinning her immobile to the spot, making her feel as if her own soul was being squeezed beneath its crush.
Kael, too, felt it—the still hum of power around him, resonating in his chest, smoldering within him with the persistent pull of the Void. The dark energy within him churned, speaking of power, of unleashing. It beckoned to him, urging him to release, to let the storm within him writhe. But he resisted. For the moment. He had to resist.
