The main courtyard of the Aldenar estate had been transformed into a site of celestial violence. The air was no longer transparent. It was thick, viscous, and shimmering with a deep, bruised violet hue that pulsed in time with the steady thumping of a giant heart. At the center of this magical storm stood Isella.
She was a vision of Northern power, her hair flowing upward as if gravity had forgotten her. Her hands were submerged in the swirling mana-gate she had torn open between the South and the North, her brow drenched in sweat. This was not a simple spell, she was holding a bridge across an entire continent with nothing but her will. She wouldn't be traveling today, the gate required an anchor, and she was the iron chain holding the two worlds together.
