The air split.
Not with light, not with sound—but with a feeling. A crack in pressure. A twist in the axis of sensation, as if the world itself had flinched and hadn't recovered.
From the edge of the sanctum, the energies bled faster now.
Mana threads weren't just reacting—they were separating.
Not dispersed, not merging. Fracturing. One line scorched hot with pure combustion, another spiraled into freezing mist, another pulsed like a heartbeat made of thunder. Wind coiled into itself and turned sharp, slicing invisible lines through the observation layer. At least four different energy types—possibly more—were orbiting Damien's body in erratic, asynchronous patterns.
The technician's voice broke through, choked. "That's… that's incompatible. That's impossible."
Kael didn't answer.
He was already pulling his glove off, jamming two fingers to the stabilizer's override node embedded in the side panel. The ward glyphs along the wall flared instantly—reactive. Too reactive.
