Ol'gaz was a creature of hunger, but also of patience. He didn't strike—yet. Instead, he let the witches scurry like frail, pathetic insects, let them gather in false safety.
He let their unease fester, their terror grow thick in the air, curling around them like a noose. He would wait until their fear was unbearable, until their minds fractured beneath the weight of it.
Then, and only then, would he consume them. Fear was not just sustenance—it was power. And the more they trembled, the stronger he would become.
He was just thinking of turning back when something yanked him violently from his spot. His body—normally bound to Florian's unconsciousness—was being dragged back as if an unseen force had tightened its grip around him.
Florian had woken up. A groan escaped his lips as he blinked in disoriented confusion. He had no memory of how he got here, but the pounding in his skull made one thing clear—Ol'gaz had brought him and knocked him out.
