Round 47

The ward-stones' sudden change in rhythm sends a jolt through the party. The active predation has shifted—whatever's upstairs isn't just feeding anymore; it's responding to their presence, recalibrating its defenses. The entity at the window resolves into a shape too large and wrong for any mortal silhouette.

Jeane moves toward Merrin at the window, her expression grave. "The ward-stones' hunger pulses faster now," she says, her voice low. "It's not just feeding off us anymore—whatever's upstairs is responding, changing course." She glances back at Seraphine, then returns to scanning the window. "We have maybe ninety seconds before something descends those stairs."

Seraphine feels the air hum with malevolent energy as the ward-stones convulse under her hands. The connection she'd been tracing severs with a psychic snap that makes her stumble back. "Everyone, get ready!" she calls out, her voice sharp with urgency as she frantically gathers her scattered robes.

The tower groans again, settling dust raining down from the ceiling. The ward-stones' vibration has definitely changed—there's a rhythm to it now, a cadence that wasn't there before. Whatever's upstairs isn't just aware of them anymore; it's actively recalibrating its defenses and preparing to respond.

The entity at the window turns toward them with mechanical deliberation, jointed limbs moving in ways no human body should allow. The Time Limit is down to three minutes. They can feel it now—the tower itself is a living thing, and they've woken something ancient and hungry.