Ian hovered above the Iron Line with his Domain still wrapped tight over the ward choir, watching the road settle after the impossible.
The basilisk lay in pieces that had already started turning to harmless stone. The ridge it had crawled from was closing like a sulking mouth. The air was clearer with every breath, as if the world itself was relieved.
He had seen power before. He was raised by it, trained under it, measured against it. But what Arthur had done didn't feel like power in the usual way. It felt like a decision. As if the world had tried to say no and Arthur had calmly crossed it out.
