The sound of stone splitting echoed through the cavern like a cry from the earth itself. Dust billowed from the altar as Grandmaster Malgarius uncarved the ancient slab, revealing the dim shimmer of something buried within—something old, something sealed away for centuries. His trembling hands reached forward, greed twisting his features with a holy madness that chilled the air.
But before he could lay claim to the unholy relic, a sharp crack split the silence.
A small stone, flung with desperate force, struck the Grandmaster's hand. The impact was clean, precise—born not of strength, but of perfect timing. The relic slipped from his grasp, bouncing once, twice, before Luke's instincts kicked in.
"Move!" Ilyrana shouted.
