The fireballs stopped, suspended in the air, like an artificial firmament about to collapse.
The ice salamanders began to retreat—but it was too late. Their movement wasn't escape. It was instinctive reaction. Reflex. Panic mixed with aggression.
And Strax?
Strax simply lowered his fingers.
A small gesture.
An absolute sentence.
The ceiling descended.
Not literally—but the fireballs plunged like inverted rain, shattering the air into incandescent trails. The hall echoed with a roar of sudden heat, so violent that Mercedes felt her skin protest, even in the intense cold.
The salamanders reacted en masse.
A million blue eyes lit up at once.
The swarm advanced.
And Strax advanced too.
Not hastily.
Not furiously.
But with the cruel tranquility of one performing a natural duty.
He opened his mouth.
And exhaled.
