At first, the change was subtle. A gentle current of air brushed against Sage's skin, cool and searching, like a breath moving across water. The mana in the room stirred, not violently, but with purpose, drawn inward toward the circle inscribed beneath them.
Cassian's robes shifted slightly, the fabric trembling as if responding to an unseen tide. The light from the mana lamps flickered, their glow bending as the ambient energy began to concentrate.
The chant continued, steady and unbroken. Each syllable interlocked with the next, forming a structure that was not merely spoken but constructed, a ritual architecture woven from sound and intent.
Then the wind began. It didn't rush in from outside or howl like a storm through a broken window. Instead, it rose from within the room itself, spiraling outward from the ritual circle in slow, tightening currents that lifted parchment edges, stirred curtain folds, and set the air trembling with contained force.
