Mikhailis barely managed to brace, boots skidding on loose shards. He caught one last glimpse of his own palm as the sigil blazed into a miniature sun. From within the translucent shield, it painted the chamber in a storm of blood-red strobe—pulsing so bright he could see the bones in Rodion's arms through the panels.
He tried to shout—Elowen, Rodion, anyone—but the moment he opened his mouth the sound evaporated. Air fled his lungs as if the chamber itself had gulped it down.
A second flash eclipsed the first. Where light had been only unbearable, it now became total, filling every crevice until there was no up, no down, no color—just scalding white. It felt like falling into the heart of a star and finding nothing there but glare.
Then the floor vanished.
