Yellow — thick and brilliant and carrying the particular, overwhelming presence of a bolt that was not the incidental discharge of ambient atmospheric energy but something deliberately summoned and directed, the controlled expression of a talent operating at full output. It arrived at the chains before they arrived at Lukas, the contact immediate and total.
Boom.
The explosion that followed displaced air in every direction simultaneously — the chains disintegrating mid-motion, their mass converting from threat to debris in an instant, the fragments scattering across the cavern floor with the harmless, scattered quality of things that had been thoroughly resolved. The nearest pieces fell short of Lukas's position by a comfortable margin.
The dust settled.
The woman looked at the space where her chains had been.
Then at Lukas.
