Molten droplets fell from the beast's shifting hand.
Each drop struck the stone floor with a violent hiss, bursting into smaller fragments of glowing lava that scattered outward in random arcs. One of them splashed against the infant's tiny hand.
The skin burned instantly.
The child woke with a sharp, piercing cry that tore through the chamber, thin and fragile against the low roar of heat and the deep hum of the formation.
The woman screamed.
Her body convulsed as she threw her head backward, clawing at the hand gripping her hair. She tore at her own scalp with both hands, ripping free clumps of hair in raw desperation.
Blood ran down her forehead and into her eyes.
She did not stop. Even as her vision dimmed and her knees weakened, she dragged herself forward inch by inch toward her child, leaving red streaks across the stone.
Her body collapsed hard against the floor.
Yet she still crawled.
Not by thought.
Not by clarity.
