Round 60

The wardstone pulsed with renewed insistence, its rhythm now clearly matching the building's own labored groans. Each beat seemed to loosen another timber joint, send another crackle through the ancient plaster. Jeane moved closer to Hera instinctively, her wings shifting as if ready to shield the woman from falling debris—or perhaps from Silra's next move. "Focus on staying alive first," she hissed, voice barely above the structure's complaining wood. The stone answered her presence with another violent shudder that rattled the chandelier overhead.

Hera stood frozen near the window, her knuckles white against the glass as she stared at Jeane and the pulsing artifact. "What exactly is happening?" she demanded, voice cracking despite her effort to remain calm. "How can we stop this?" The floorboards beneath her feet creaked ominously in response.

Across the room, Halie approached Silra with visible reluctance, her footsteps hesitant on the shifting floor. The wardstone's pulses felt wrong—too alive, too insistent—as it throbbed against Silra's fingers. "Wait," she said, voice barely steady. "There has to be another way." Her eyes darted between the stone and the two civilians huddled nearby. "We can't just... bleed this thing dry at any cost." The building groaned around them again—a long, slow creak that sounded like a dying beast—and Halie took an involuntary step back.

Jeane's expression darkened as she watched Hera's panic and Halie's hesitation. She opened her mouth to speak, but the wardstone pulsed again—stronger this time, accompanied by a sharp crack from somewhere deep within the building's foundation. The structure lurched sideways for several inches before settling back with an ominous groan. "Fuck," Jeane muttered under her breath, knowing they were running out of time faster than anyone had anticipated.