The forty-two Spire mages stationed along the outer barrier moved with the practiced precision of machine parts. Their long, silver-and-gold robes floated in the water, secured at their waists by heavy bronze utility belts packed with mana-restoration vials and reserve spell-scrolls.
In the center of their triangular formation, Warden Dax held a six-foot bronze staff tipped with a pulsing, pale-blue lightning orb. He was forty years old, a veteran of three surface suppressions, and his face was scarred from old mana-burns.
"Quadrant two report," Dax said into his comms-amulet, his voice transmitted via localized mana-vibrations. "Target status in the lower trench."
"The aquatic humanoids are incapacitated, Warden," a younger mage replied from the perimeter. "Eight confirmed paralyzed. The remaining four are retreating toward the lower rocks. Electrical density across the seabed is holding at seventy percent."
