The violet light died.
Instructor Thorne killed the power to the arrays. The geometric grooves in the basalt floor went dark, and the crushing, parasitic weight that had filled the room vanished.
The atmosphere decompressed instantly.
Vane exhaled. A plume of white mist escaped his lips, dissipating into the chilled air. His mana, which had been cycling in a tight, defensive loop for two hours, settled back into his core. It hummed with the quiet efficiency of a cooling engine.
Beside him, the squad recovered.
Ashe leaned against a pillar. She wiped a streak of grime from her forehead. Her breathing was fast, ragged. Her mana flickered around her skin like a dying candle, unstable and agitated.
Valerica stood with her hands clasped behind her back. Her posture was rigid. A faint shimmer of solar plasma distorted the air around her shoulders before winking out. She looked composed, but the knuckles of her clasped hands were white.
Thorne stood in the center of the ring.
