He drew his sword across his chest, and the shadow etched into its edge awakened. Black flame spiraled outward, weaving with gold until the two became one, a luminous dusk burning in the air. He swung.
The blade didn't strike Veyrath; it tore open the air itself. Mana warped, pressure reversed, and the demi-god's probing current met resistance for the first time. The resulting clash didn't explode outward, it collapsed inward, forming a vacuum of silence that swallowed sound.
Veyrath raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You bend domains already. Impressive… for something that still breathes."
His hand extended, open palm facing Lindarion. From his fingertips bled threads of divine energy, faint, almost invisible, until they touched air. Then they bloomed, twisting into radiant sigils that wrapped around the young prince like a cage.
