Round 135

The stone passage groans around them, dust sifting from ancient cracks. Seraphine’s voice rises in a rhythmic chant, each syllable carefully constructed to resonate with the magic trapped within these walls. The air crackles with arcane energy that makes Jeane’s skin prickle. As the elf scholar works, the runes on the walls pulse brighter, their patterns shifting and twisting in time with her incantation.

Jeane watches intently, her crimson eyes tracking every gesture and word. The sorceress knows better than to interrupt a working spell mid-cast—one wrong syllable could collapse the entire structure or worse. She settles for pacing nearby, keeping her wings half-spread for quick reaction time should anything go awry.

The chanting builds towards a crescendo as Seraphine draws upon every ounce of her magical expertise. Her fingers weave complex patterns in the air, leaving trails of shimmering energy that dance and twist before fading. The runes on the walls seem to lean closer, their light intensifying until it’s almost painful to look at directly. With a final sharp gesture and a spoken word, she...

Jeane moves closer, her expression a dangerous blend of calculation and something darker. Intrigued? She scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—just the weary resignation of someone who has lived longer than most and seen more than should be possible. I wouldn’t trust myself with your intrigue if I were you. But then again… Her gaze drifts to Merrin's still form on the platform below, we don't have much choice, do we?