The white light of Riku's spell faded. The corrosive black mist was gone, leaving behind a scene of devastation. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burnt earth. A half-dozen mercenaries lay on the ground, their armor melted and their skin horribly scarred, their moans the only sound in the sudden, unnatural quiet.
Riku stood in the middle of the road, his chest heaving. The last vestiges of the Grand Maximus's purple light had vanished from his eyes, but a cold fury remained. He stared at the spot where the shadow man had disappeared, his hands clenched into tight fists. He had saved the caravan. But Zella and her grandparents were still dead. The victory felt like ash in his mouth.
Arch-Mage Lyra lowered the Storm Core. The oppressive pressure in the air vanished. She walked towards Riku, her indigo robes making no sound on the dusty ground. She stopped a few paces from him, her ageless, stormy eyes assessing him with a new, sharp curiosity.
