Claire's boots dug into the broken earth, scorched by blue fire and scarred by collapsing spells. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving not from exhaustion, but something far worse—panic laced with hatred. The scent of burned ozone filled the air, bitter and chemical. Mana crackled against her skin like static, an invisible flame licking her nerves raw.
Her satchel was nearly empty. Only a few scrolls remained. The ones she had collected obsessively over the years—across black markets, auctions, hidden chambers guarded by cursed things—each one encoded in runes old enough to make a high priest weep. The paper trembled in her hand now, not from fear, but from the power within them begging to be unleashed.
