It wasn't a violent quake, not really. More like a deep, dull throb, alive somehow—like a pulse welling up from the earth itself. A low frequency, almost organic, like the heartbeat of something buried under centuries of stone and silence.
It made the creatures stagger—even the one mid-leap towards Maggie. Its momentum shattered, not by force, but by a terror that froze it from within.
Its beastly look of triumph hung in the air for a heartbeat, then twisted. Its bloodshot eyes widened—not fixed on the vulnerable girl anymore, but turned to the shadows beyond the circle. Toward the source. Toward what was coming.
The mist stirred, twisted, then began to spin violently, sucked by a colossal breath. The air shifted—heavier, thicker, weighted with a pressure so dense it made teeth ache, knees buckle, sweat pour. Dylan stumbled a step. Élisa grimaced, one knee to the ground, daggers still ready—but her arms trembled.
