The creature hovered above the cracked earth, its body a swirling mass of bone splinters, mirror shards, and flowing dust. It did not move with muscle or sinew—it drifted like a nightmare caught between worlds, warping the light and bending sound.
Its gaping mouth emitted no scream, but everyone felt it.
A shriek that carved through memory, not air.
Argolaith gritted his teeth as another pulse struck him like a blow to the skull.
Images again.
Visions that were not his.
A ruined temple.
A burning sword buried in stone.
A woman wreathed in light, shouting something through blood and fire—his name, or one like it.
"Argolaith!"
He staggered, catching himself with his free hand as the rune on his forearm blazed.
Malakar stepped in front of him, his skeletal hand rising. Shadows curled from his fingertips in spiraling threads.
"Get behind me. This creature preys on instability."
Kaelred darted to the left, circling the thing, blades flicking in and out of his hands.
