The pressure didn't ease.
The chained legion kept coming—slower now, formations breaking sooner—but it didn't stop. Every wave that fell was replaced by another, dragged upright by humming links and forced forward with the same empty resolve. Ice cracked underfoot. Frost was churned into slush. The battlefield ground itself down by inches.
They were holding.
But the cost was mounting.
Noel felt it first in his core. The shard-mana snarled more often now, surging at the wrong moments, resisting restraint when he forced it back into line. Each spell took more effort to shape, more will to keep from overshooting. The power was still there—brutal, vast—but suppressing it was becoming a fight of its own.
To his left, Selene's breathing had tightened. Gravity still bent where she willed it, but the fields didn't snap into place as cleanly anymore. Each Gravition Hold lingered a fraction too long before release. Each adjustment cost her more focus than the last.
