Kaelthrix did not press forward immediately.
It straightened slowly, the fractured crystal along its back knitting together with a wet, grinding sound as molten light flowed back into the seams. The prison reacted at once. Arcs along the distant structure flared brighter, then dimmed, as if the system were warning itself not to overcorrect.
Nysha slid back into position beside Lindarion, breath tight but controlled. "That thing regenerates by redistributing stress through the lattice," she said. "Every time we hurt it, the prison pays part of the cost."
"I know," Lindarion replied. "Which means we can't let it choose where that cost goes."
Kaelthrix lifted one hand, fingers spreading. The air around them buckled, space folding inward like paper creased too many times. This time it wasn't an attack. It was a declaration.
"You're interfering with containment priorities," Kaelthrix said, its voice no longer amused. "That authority is not yours."
