The air in Blackspire Citadel's highest chamber turned to ice, each breath a sharp blade in Valen's lungs. The void hand loomed closer, its claws dripping with an inky blackness that seemed to devour the firelight. The massive eye in the rift pulsed, its gaze pinning Valen like a specimen under glass. The Harbinger's laughter echoed, a cacophony of mockery and menace, as the tower trembled under the weight of the encroaching void. Zephyra, blood streaming from her nose, gripped Valen's arm, her runes flickering as her strength waned.
"Valen," she hissed, her voice taut with urgency. "We need to move. Now."
