The Maritime Observation Building, which had been a silent sanctuary of stone and glass only hours ago, was now vibrating with a high-frequency hum that felt like needles against the eardrums. Rianor Sudrath was no longer sprawled on the floor in a state of exhaustion. He sat rigidly before the primary terminal, his face as pale as bleached parchment and his breathing a labored, rhythmic struggle. In his left arm, a small vial containing translucent, concentrated mana-fluid was connected via an emergency intravenous line—a desperate medical gamble he had clinically termed "Mana-Overclocking."
The fluid was a volatile catalyst, forcing his damaged magical circuits to ignite with artificial life. The pain was transcendent, a white-hot fire coursing through his veins, but for Rianor, pain was merely a biological data point. It was proof that his nervous system was still functioning, that he was still anchored to the world of the living.
