The explosion of dark energy from the top of the grand staircase sent a physical shockwave through the gallery, a pulse of cold so absolute it turned the humid air into a sudden, biting frost. But Elric stood his ground. He planted his boots deep into the cracked marble, his legs braced, his starlight-coated blade held in a high, defensive ward that acted as a breakwater against the surging tide of shadow.
"Verona," Elric said, his voice a low, steady rumble that didn't waver despite the black smoke beginning to lick at his shins. "Can you hold the Stone?"
"I am the Stone, Elric," she replied. Her voice had lost its human tremor, replaced by the resonant, multi-tonal chime of the Weaver. She stood tall, her dark hair whipped into a frenzy by the clashing auras, her emerald eyes bleeding gold as she focused the magic into Elric's armor. "But my heart... my heart is still with you. Do not let him take it."
