"Raguth, it all falls to you now!"
The Archmage in white robes roared, his hair whipping about his face in a wild frenzy. The death of his friend had ignited a fury in him, forging his grief into a terrible resolve.
"Let the Light purge the dark! Let all shadows be unmade!"
As the words left his lips, the clinging shroud of shadow that had clung to him was violently blasted away by an eruption of pure, internal luminescence. The Archmage was consumed by it, transformed into a figure of blinding radiance.
But this was no gentle, warming light; it was an oppressive, suffocating glare. A world with no shadow is a world of madness, a world of zealotry.
"By Light's artifice, a phantasm born. By Light's decree, a sanctum sworn. Whilst this flame burns, this cage shall hold."
Vwommm.
Orion heard a sound he shouldn't have been able to hear. He heard the sound of the light itself.
