Lucian's voice was flat. Certain. "Drop it."
Alistair hesitated for one more heartbeat. Then he let his hand fall.
The golden light vanished.
The creature surged forward, triumphant—
And stopped.
It stopped because Lucian looked at it.
Just looked.
The air between them didn't freeze. It didn't shimmer. It simply ceased to be relevant. The creature's forward momentum carried it into a space that no longer existed, and it stumbled, confused, its form flickering.
Lucian took a step forward.
The creature took one back.
"What…" it hissed, its many eyes narrowing. "What are you?"
"I'm the one who's been asleep," Lucian said. "And I'm very, very annoyed that you made my family fight you alone."
He raised his hand.
Not in a dramatic gesture. Not with a flash of power. He just raised it, palm open, toward the creature.
"You're a concept," he said. "Hunger. Devouring. Consumption. That's what you are."
