Round 129

The building groans around them like a dying beast, and every creak sounds like it's counting down seconds. The wardstone pulses again—louder this time—and dust rains from above in a thick gray cloud that tastes like fear and stone. Jeane doesn't hesitate; she snaps out the spell word sharp enough to cut through the building's groan, voice barely containing the panic fighting to break free. "Silra," she bites out, "get through that shaft now." Her eyes flick to Halie's pale face—pale even in the emergency lighting—and the way her hands grip the wall for balance despite how they burn from residual contact with the wardstone.

The spell holding the barricade barely contains the thing's energy, and every second feels like sand slipping through an hourglass. The floor buckles underfoot when Hera backs into her—Jeane catches the girl instinctively before she falls, but the movement breaks her concentration for a heartbeat and the spell wavers visibly. "Stay behind me," she orders, voice flat despite the adrenaline singing in her veins. The spell feels like trying to hold back a tidal wave with her hands—it's not going to last long at this rate.

Halie shakes her head sharply, pressing both palms against the door frame even though it makes her wince from the residual heat. "I'll brace the door with my body weight while you hold it magically," she says, voice tight but steady. "Separate contact points means less wardstone contamination for either of us." She meets Jeane's crimson gaze evenly despite the fear making her heart hammer against her ribs. "Jeane, tell Silra to get through that shaft now before the whole floor gives way. We can't afford to wait any longer."

The building groans again—louder this time—and a fresh rain of dust falls from above. The wardstone pulses once more, and both women flinch in unison. They're running out of time faster than they're running out of options.