Marcus dragged his chained wrists across the cobblestones. He pushed his body onto his hands and knees to keep his face out of the dirt. Grime stained the pristine white fabric of his undershirt.
He stared at his empty palms and repeatedly curled his fingers into tight fists. The familiar surge of golden mana was completely absent. The calluses he had built swinging a divine broadsword remained on his skin, yet the power to lift the weapon had vanished entirely.
Elena pulled her knees against her chest and buried her face in her arms. Tears tracked through the soot coating her cheeks to drip silently onto the stone pavement.
She scratched frantically at the skin of her arms, desperately searching for the comforting pink glow of her healing magic. Her nails left bright red welts across her flesh.
