It wasn't a sound. It wasn't a light. It was... a presence. A suffocating, crushing weight that filled the small room, a psychic pressure so immense it felt like the air itself was solidifying, pressing in on her from all sides.
The scrolls on the walls, the ones she hadn't even noticed before, began to smolder, the edges curling and blackening, the ancient parchment turning to ash in an instant. The air grew hot, impossibly hot, the heat rising in a palpable wave, licking at her skin, making her feel like she was standing on the surface of the sun.
Caelan cried out, snatching his hand back from the pedestal as if he'd been burned. The scroll remained where it was, untouched, but the pedestal itself was now glowing, a faint, angry red.
"What... what is that?" Emily stammered, her voice a hoarse, terrified whisper.
