The air suddenly dropped a degree. Then two. Then five.
A strange, unnatural stillness enveloped the field like a dark fog creeping over a battlefield before dawn.
The moonlight flickered as though something was interfering with reality itself.
Elius's pupils glowed faintly with a ghostly blue light.
"Ghost Walk," he muttered, his voice low and thunderous, echoing through dimensions beyond the four's comprehension.
Then, in a fraction of a heartbeat, his entire form shimmered—flickering like a candle on the edge of extinction. His body blurred into vapor.
Ethereal mist devoured the definition of his form.
His legs lost their solidity, feet barely touching the ground. His robes trailed off like wisps of spirit-smoke. Where once stood a man, now lingered a phantom.
Zhark's jaw clenched. "He—what the hell is this?"
Fraven narrowed his glowing eyes. "I can't track his mind! He's—he's not even on the same plane!"
