They descended into the bone-chilled depths beneath Silver Blade Academy, the echo of tremors pounding through the narrow stone corridors like the heartbeat of the earth itself.
Torches flickered, casting frantic shadows along carved runes that pulsed with eldritch light as Lirazel chanted under her breath.
Nolan's boots clanged across the ancient flagstones; his rifle was slung at his side, silent now but ready.
The air was damp, thick with magic and anticipation.
At last, their path opened into a vaulted chamber—and there, nestled within its heart, lay a crystalline pond.
It was impossibly clear, reflecting the ceiling's web of archways, rimmed by luminous algae that glowed with a delicate blue. Even the tremors calmed. The world held its breath.
And at the center of the waters sat Ponka.
