Althea released her hold on the worn red fabric. It was like a string being cut, not just the tether of her mana to the carpet, but the taut focus holding her body together.
The tension snapped back into her, and she simply slumped into Olga's arms.
The soft, golden glow of her mana vanished in an instant, snuffed out completely.
What remained were the dragon child's threads, thin, luminous strands woven through the searing fabric, and the sudden, overwhelming cacophony of sound.
Screams tore through the air.
Stone groaned.
Debris crashed and snapped loose, raining down through the fabric in violent, staggered bursts.
The dome didn't simply collapse.
It unraveled.
The seared fabric burned and split where the dragon child's mana had threaded through it, the weave tearing open along paths she had marked.
Keiser didn't look away. He tilted his head back, eyes tracking the rupture as it spread, until he saw it.
An opening.
