The white veins that had split across Elara's and Lucien's skin faded in an instant, leaving behind a numb, hollow ache that felt like winter settling into their bones.
The heavy mechanical anchor lines attached to Marcus's black plate units suddenly stopped vibrating. They didn't snap. Instead, the thick iron links slowly wilted, the metal turning to brittle, rusted dust that fell away into the dark abyss in long, silent streams.
A freezing, colorless vapor rolled out of the open tunnel mouth, moving low across the stone floor boards like a physical hand.
Marcus tried to raise his iron crossbow, his knuckles tightening as he aimed at the shifting fog.
"Hold your lines!" he barked, his voice sharp with a rigid, desperate authority. "It's just an environmental displacement. Ready the secondary volleys!"
But the heavy iron weapon wouldn't fire.
The intricate internal gears were locked completely solid, frozen by a sudden frost that completely ignored the friction of the machine.
