Clay slowly closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, everything around him seemed to quiet down, as if the battlefield itself held its breath, as if even the wind dared not disturb whatever was about to happen next, and those who were watching him could not explain why their instincts suddenly told them to remain still.
Then it came.
A presence.
Not violent.
Not explosive.
But heavy.
It flowed out of Clay like something ancient waking up from a long slumber, something that did not belong to this land, something that did not feel like ordinary mana, and yet it pressed against the surroundings with a kind of authority that made even the strongest among them feel uneasy.
The air grew thick.
The ground beneath his feet seemed to respond.
And slowly, very slowly, markings began to form.
