The dust hadn't finished settling from the last exchange when the air itself seemed to change its mind about staying still.
Smoke curled up from the collapsed section of roof, catching the last dying light of the sun in thin gray ribbons. Somewhere beneath the rubble, something still smoldered, orange embers winking in and out between shattered beams. The smell of scorched stone and old blood hung thick over the hall, mixing with something colder now, something that made the hair on the back of every neck rise before anyone understood why.
Nelico hovered a few feet off the ground, robes torn at the hem, one sleeve missing entirely below the elbow. His spectacles sat crooked on his nose, cracked lens throwing the world at a slight, distorted angle. He straightened them out of habit more than necessity.
"Horror," he repeated, tasting the word like wine gone strange. "Bold claim for a man who just spent his last trick putting my masterpiece to sleep."
