Round 181

Seraphine's keen elven eyes trace the intricate patterns etched into the box's surface as she holds it steady in her hands. The craftsmanship is exquisite—ancient and yet somehow more advanced than anything she's encountered in her studies. Each pulse of its internal energy sends a jolt through her fingers, and she can feel the weight of arcane knowledge pressing against the edges of her mind like water seeping into cracks.*

She looks up at Jeane, seeing the familiar blend of suspicion and barely-controlled panic etched across her friend's features. "I know you don't trust it," she says, her voice low but firm, "but think about it. This place—this entire tower—is falling apart because something fundamental has broken. And this box? It's stable. Grounded. Maybe whatever Merrin was trying to contain is leaking out now that the patterns are collapsing." Her gaze flicks to the groaning walls and the pulsing runes before returning to Jeane. "We can't stay here forever, and if opening this gives us even a hint of how to fix things—or where Merrin went—then isn't it worth the risk?"