The mist in the Valley of Aethelgard was usually a gentle, drifting thing, a soft blanket that hid the world. Today, it felt heavy. It pressed against Kairen's skin like a wet wool cloak, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on his arms stand up.
Kairen stood in the center of the crystal platform, his chest heaving. He had just dismissed the Essence Blade for the hundredth time that morning. The "closing" was getting faster—a sharp, mental snap rather than a slow struggle—but the toll it took on him was immense. His core felt scraped raw, as if he had been swallowing sandpaper.
"Enough," Sage Vanamali's voice cut through the humid air.
Kairen let out a long, shuddering breath and sank to his knees, wiping sweat from his eyes. "I... I can go again. I can hold it longer."
