The same ancient resonance she had unleashed at the iceberg rift. The same terrifying, beautiful force that had answered when she sang to the trolls—before words, before fear, before anyone remembered how to listen. This was not refined magic or disciplined technique. This was raw qi, stripped of ornament and apology.
Pure. Primal. Otherworldly.
The valley screamed.
Not in rage. In resistance.
The sealed thing below surged upward, its presence slamming into her barrier like a tidal wave. Shadow tendrils tore through the cracks, clawing at the light, testing the seals, probing her resolve. They writhed and recoiled and struck again, a thing that had been buried not because it was weak—but because it refused to change.
Lady Seraphine's knees bent.
Her teeth clenched.
And then—She pushed harder.
"NO."
Her eyes flew open, blazing with a light that had nothing to do with the sigils beneath our feet. Her voice cracked like a command etched into reality itself.
