Elara's POV The victory at the Ravine felt like ashes in my mouth. We had pushed back the siphons, but the mountain was still screaming. Every few minutes, a low, tectonic shudder vibrated through the floorboards of the Citadel—a literal groan of the earth as the fractured ley lines leaked the South’s vital essence into the void. I stood in the center of the High Sanctum, the room where the primary ley line converged into a pulsing pillar of raw, subterranean light. Usually, the light was a vibrant, earthy blue, reflecting Malachi’s lineage. Now, it was a sickly, bruised indigo, streaked with veins of Northern green. “It’s not holding, Elara,” Malachi said. He was standing by the observation balcony, his hands gripped behind his back. He had refused to go to the infirmary to treat the grey rot-burns on his neck. “The fracture from the ritual has created a vacuum. The mountain is trying to pull energy from the surrounding forest to fill the gap, but there’s nothing but rot out ther
Última actualización : 2026-04-12 Leer más