The black void folded in on itself like paper being crushed in an invisible fist. One moment, Ouroboros was still walking away, her figure disappearing into the shadows, the strange echo of her presence pressing against his skin. The next—
The world snapped.
His stomach dropped, the air punched out of his lungs, and he landed hard on stone. Cold, damp, real stone.
The temple's crumbling ceiling loomed overhead, its familiar cracks and creeping moss strangely comforting after what he'd just witnessed.
"Lindarion!"
He turned sharply. Nysha stood there, red eyes wide, her hands trembling just enough to betray that she'd been worried. The faint scent of incense clung to her robes, she'd clearly been pacing inside, waiting.
She hurried over, stopping just short of touching him.
"Where—what happened? You were gone for hours! And your mana… it's different."
