Round 7

As Sister Hale's voice rose to a determined chant, the air seemed to vibrate with her words, though the darkness remained stubbornly opaque. Silra shifted closer, her eyes straining to pierce the void, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her dagger as if ready to strike at any moment. The low chuckle from within the gate's depths sent a shiver down her spine, its malevolent tone echoing through the stormy night like a cold breeze on a winter's eve.

Sister Hale's words continued to weave a spell of binding, though it seemed the entity was not one easily swayed by divine authority. The air grew thick with resistance, as if the darkness itself was pushing back against her will, yet she persisted, her voice growing stronger with each passing moment. Silra watched, her expression unreadable, as Sister Hale's determination wavered for a fleeting instant before she redoubled her efforts, her words slicing through the darkness like a blade.