The heavy, obsidian-scented air of the ruined ancestral keep seemed to fracture.
A thick, unnatural grey mist—choking and biting with the stench of ancient ash and forgotten time—rolled across the courtyard. It was not a natural fog; it was a physical manifestation of a broken soul-seal, a shockwave of residual spiritual backlash from the abyss.
"Draven...?" I gasped, trying to cling to him as the world twisted violently off its axis.
The warmth of his embrace dissolved into thin, freezing air. The solid stone under my feet turned to mist, and a sharp, piercing migraine detonated behind my eyes. I squeezed them shut, a breathless cry tearing from my throat as the ground completely vanished beneath me.
---
When I finally dragged my heavy eyelids open, the biting chill of the Northern ruins was gone.
