Darkness surged outward from Lucien like a tide.
Not absence of light, consumption.
Elara's pulse stuttered. The torches didn't just go out, their flames were devoured, swallowed by something older than shadow. The air thickened until breathing felt like swallowing ink, trembling with pressure and the veins of magic carved into the floor began to glow faint violets, pulsing like exposed nerves.
"Lucien," she whispered. "Fight it."
He tilted his head slightly, almost amused. "You still think this is something to fight?"
His voice carried two tones now, his own beneath, steady and familiar and something deeper layered over it. Vast. Patient.
Lyra stepped forward and drew her blade in one fluid motion. A short, curved weapon forged from starsteel, the only metal that could cut through Veil-forged energy. Its edge shimmered like moonlight. "Get behind me."
