Marked by The Mist

"Come on… come on…!" Mikhailis muttered through clenched teeth, ignoring the sweat that dripped into his eyes. The power was immense, and it fought him every step, screaming as if it had a will of its own. But the runes pulled at it, devouring the roiling mist bit by bit, trapping it in a swirling vortex that crackled with ancient magic.

Rhea tried to limp closer, but Lira caught her arm. "Stay back!" the maid warned, voice high with concern. "If you get too close, the wards might take you in as well!"

Rhea pressed her lips together, glaring at the raw power swirling mere yards away. She hated standing by, hated feeling helpless. But her leg throbbed too fiercely to allow her to intervene. "Don't you dare die on us, Your Highness," she muttered, hand clutching her sword's hilt so hard that her knuckles turned white.