Sylmira froze when she saw Arty. That wasn't the girl she knew anymore. Black mist swirled around her body, it was getting thicker now, feeding on her rage.
From the sides, Sylmira could see her eyes empty of humanity yet burning with hatred.
Sylmira's chest tightened with guilt. "I should've been there. I should've stopped this."
She had promised to protect Arty from that darkness, to keep her away from the influence that once nearly consumed her. And yet here it was again. The influence was getting worse, stronger, and could be deeper into her soul.
The word the being had shouted—"Zerathul"—echoed in her mind. It carried weight, a name that didn't belong to their world.
It wasn't random, it meant something. But what? The uncertainty gnawed at her even as her instincts screamed that the name was a key to something dangerous.
Before she could think further, the air exploded with huge sounds.
