The helm of the colossus pivoted again, its slit of shadow sliding slowly over Elisa, over Zirel, over Inès—but it did not linger on them. No. Its attention returned to Maggie. As if, in that mute and crushing gaze, something ancient had found its echo.
The chains of energy finally broke in a muffled crack, dissolving into a myriad of pale embers that drifted in the stagnant air. The colossus shifted, its weight growling against the stone, and for an instant, the chamber trembled as though it could no longer contain him.
He rose.
The movement was inexorable, every joint of stone and shadow groaning like tectonic plates grinding back into motion after centuries of slumber. Upright, he towered over everything, a mountain incarnate, and the air around him thickened, saturated with the taste of iron and dust.
Then, he advanced.
Not toward Elisa, whose hand still smoked after her cursed touch.
Not toward Zirel, whose greedy eyes gleamed with unspoken schemes.
