A violent spatial pressure wave swept across the western ridge.
Half a dozen Novices were lifted cleanly off their boots, tumbling backward into the frozen talus as the very slope beneath them lurched sideways.
Rundrik Ember planted his boots deep into the granite, the veins in his neck cording as he channeled a dense, stabilizing sheath of Umbralis around his limbs.
His orange eyes ignited with an unnatural radiance, palatable waves of umbralis roiling wildly around him.
Gritting his teeth, he peered at the widening rift, straining against the nebulous energy flowing out of the ghastly tear in the fabric of space.
Then for a brief moment, the atmosphere changed.
Four figures in robes of the purest white stepped past the trembling outer security.
Victoria Goodison walked at their center.
