Lancet read his Grace again, his eyes locked at that one word.
DEFECTIVE.
This wasn't new. It had started back in the backyard of the Elementalist faculty building when Lancet had summoned Spectra.
Spectra whispered in his ear, urging him to reach deep inside and feel the Gloom. He had lied to her that he didn't, but Lancet actually had.
And when he dug past the familiar, rushing warmth of his Grace and reached the very bottom of his core, he hit a cold, hollow abyss.
He didn't find Gloom, no. Honestly, he didn't even know how to. But Lancet realized something right then. It wasn't just one abyss, there were many, spread across his soul system.
Something was fundamentally wrong with Lancet's Grace channels.
The cause wasn't a mystery. The Gloom Spear explosion that had nearly claimed his life during the Hebthej raid had left a lingering, rotting taint.
