Round 60

Jeane's flame guttered dangerously low as she ascended the stairs backward, her eyes never leaving Silra's form below. The arcane strain was building fast—too much time spent near those shifting walls already—and maintaining even this minimal ward against the creeping corruption took every ounce of concentration. She could feel the sweet-sick scent clinging to her skin like physical residue despite desperate attempts to clear it with arcane scrubbing.* At least this way Silra could work unencumbered by my instability—she'd be furious if I compromised her mapping precision again.

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