The sanctum loomed before them, a cavernous cathedral swallowed in shadow and red mist, its architecture twisted by the Crimson Veil's corruption.
Bone pillars curved unnaturally toward the ceiling, their tips merging into jagged veins throbbing with dull crimson light.
Stained glass, once depicting Lysara's radiance, dripped streaks of red, her eyes gouged out by blasphemous vines threading through the stone.
The air was thick, syrupy with magic, every breath heavy, every movement slowed.
Leon stepped through the threshold last, his wind magic stuttering in his chest, his reforged dagger heavy at his belt.
A whisper curled through the mist: "You will fail him too."
The voice wasn't real, but it conjured Boren—his mentor, his friend—clutching his chest, blood leaking between his fingers, eyes wide in betrayal.
Leon froze, his heart pounding.
