The mysterious figure remained silent.
Ophira's eyes narrowed. She thrust her hand forward, and tendrils of silver magic shot toward the cloaked figure like living chains, aiming to bind and hold them in place.
But the figure was already moving. Purple smoke erupted from beneath their robes, the same unnatural color as their cloak. It spread rapidly, thick and choking.
Ophira's magic tendrils pierced through the smoke, seeking their target. For a moment, they seemed to catch on something like fabric, perhaps, or the edge of the figure's form.
The priestess pulled, trying to drag them back, trying to hold them. Her face strained with effort, the glow around her intensifying.
"NO!" she shouted.
But the mysterious figure was already dissolving into the purple smoke. The magic tendrils grasped at nothing but vapor. In seconds, both the figure and the smoke vanished completely, taking one precious blood bag with them.
