Round 107 Transcript

Jeane's voice cracks as she orders Silra to focus on bracing the door, her words laced with desperation. The sound of her own ragged breathing fills the air as she backs away from the door, her eyes fixed on Hera, who clings to the far wall. Halie holds the mirror against the door, her feet braced wide, and C's calloused hands grip the handle, her knuckles white with tension. As Jeane takes a step back, her foot slips on the slick floor, and she stumbles, her palms scraping against the tile. The sound of her own pain echoes through the room, and the wardstone pulses respond with an increasing intensity, causing the building to groan ominously. C's grip on the handle tightens as she struggles to maintain her stance, and Halie's eyes flicker towards the door, her face set in a determined expression.

I back away from the door, letting Silra take my place—her hands are already in position, ready to brace against whatever pushes through. The wardstone pulses like a living thing on the other side of this barrier, each beat making my teeth ache and my skin crawl. Hera. I turn towards her, voice sharper than intended. Stay where you are. Against that corner wall. Her corrupted skin catches what little light is left in here, gleaming with something that has nothing to do with health anymore. Fear makes her look smaller somehow, huddled against the tile. I'm not sure if I'm protecting her or containing her. The wardstone energy is doing things—changing things—and I need one person who isn't panicking, at least until we figure out what this door is holding back and how long it will hold. The water from the broken shower mixes with the spilled lubricant on the floor beneath me; every shift of weight threatens to send me sliding. I can feel the building groaning around us, like a beast waking up mid-nap—structural collapse doesn't wait for convenience, does it?

I brace the mirror against the door handle, feeling the wardstone pulses vibrate through the glass and frame—each pulse like teeth scraping inside my skull. Hera's huddled across the bathroom, her corrupted skin gleaming in the emergency lighting, and I can't look away from those marks even as fear coils tight in my chest. "Silra," I say, voice steadier than I feel, "help me hold this side." The door groans under pressure, and more dust sifts through cracks. We're trapped here with a wardstone on the other side that's getting stronger by the second, and I don't know how long this barrier will hold. Jeane backs away from the door, bleeding from her hands where she cut them holding it closed earlier—she needs to rest those wrists or they'll be useless when we really need them. The building shudders around us like a dying animal, and water from the broken shower stall mixes with whatever's spilled on the floor, making the tile slick underfoot. "We can't stay here," I tell her, still not looking away from Hera across the room. "The wardstone energy is increasing—can you feel it? If we don't find another way out, that door's coming down whether we're ready or not."

I brace myself against the corner wall like Jeane ordered, but my eyes are on her bleeding hands gripping the door handle. The wardstone pulses through the floor and walls now—it's not just sound anymore. It's sensation. "Jeane," I say, voice sharper than I intend, "those cuts aren't helping anything." She doesn't even look at me, which means she knows I'm right but won't admit it. The mirror Halie's holding against the door is a joke of a barrier—wardstone energy isn't physical, not really. It's something else, something that gets under your skin and inside your head. And Hera just standing there looking terrified doesn't solve anything either. I pull out my lockpick set—not to pick locks, but as tools. "If we're bracing this door, let's do it right." I start working the picks into the hinges on our side while keeping an eye on Jeane. Her breathing is off—too fast, too rough—and the wardstone pulses are making her jaw clench. "Anyone else feel like we're building a coffin instead of a barricade?" I mutter to no one in particular. Hera flinches at that, so maybe not everyone's as numb to our situation as Jeane seems determined to be.