The oppressive darkness of the Deep Root Cellar no longer felt like a predator to Dayat. Instead, it had become his element. Beneath the skin of his forearms, the emerald-green magic circuits pulsed in perfect synchronicity with a heartbeat driven by the Maiden Protocol's artificial adrenaline. The cooling, serene sensation of the Vaelith Spirit's Mana merged with the searing, white-hot heat of Dola's systems, creating a resonance of power so absolute that the world seemed to slow down around him.
"Dola, status?" Dayat whispered. His voice was low, raspy, yet carried a new, undeniable weight of authority.
