"Take my hand…"
The voice pulsed again, rolling through Luther's bones. His fingers twitched upward against his will, trembling toward the dais as though invisible strings tugged them. The glow from the cracked statue made his chest tighten.
Then—
"Move, idiot!"
A blur of motion. Aithur's arm clamped around his torso and yanked him back at terrifying speed.
The dais erupted.
A storm-force blast detonated across the platform. Marble shattered, the explosion flinging shards like knives across the prayer hall. The ground shook violently, cracked tiles groaning under the pressure.
Aithur released Luther mid-leap, dropping him onto the wreckage-strewn floor with a grunt.
"Stay down," Aithur snapped, eyes flashing like storm clouds as lightning already hissed at his fingertips. "This isn't your fight."
Liliana's voice followed, sharp and commanding. "He's right. Go to the survivors. Don't slow us down."
