A deep vibration spread through the chamber beneath the royal palace, passing through the stone walls and ancient foundations. The magic circle beneath the shattered mana crystal flickered, its remaining runes struggling to contain the immense force pouring through the opening.
The acolytes maintained their positions around the circle, pouring mana into the formation. Their robes fluttered in the unnatural wind, while the light from their spells cast long, distorted shadows across the chamber.
It was not enough.
The Rift continued to widen.
Fausto stood beside Zarathor, observing the deteriorating formation. His expression remained composed, though his eyes followed every change in the unstable currents.
"The western formation is beginning to collapse," he reported. "I've ordered the acolytes to reinforce the inner perimeter."
Zarathor watched the Rift without moving.
