The vault crumbled behind them, its collapse silencing the screaming echoes of the flame root's destruction. Dust curled through the fractured air like ghostly fingers, and all around them, the chamber pulsed with the dying heartbeat of something ancient and waiting. Magic lingered, thick and smoky, laced with a tension that made the skin crawl.
Ryon lowered his flame-clad arm, the last embers dissipating from his palm. The ruptured core of the flame root lay in ruin, splinters of crystal still glowing with dim heat. Sparks hissed as they touched the ground.
He turned to the others. Kaela had her sword half-drawn, her stance wary. Elara stood unmoving, her eyes distant as if she were hearing something only she could perceive. Neive knelt beside a charred sigil embedded in the stone, her fingertips glowing with scanning glyphs.
