Kael stumbled backward, his eyes locked on the skeletal hand clawing its way from the soil. Eira was already moving—sword drawn, eyes sharp.
The earth cracked wider, and from the chasm emerged a figure draped in bone-like armor, its face a shifting mist. It hissed, not with air but with intent. "The Ashborn awakens…"
Kael raised his blade, the runes along his arm flaring to life. The sword pulsed, emitting a deep chime that made the ground tremble. The creature faltered, just for a moment.
Eira dashed in, her sword striking the creature's side, but it barely flinched. "Magic," she muttered. "Only magic can hurt it."
Kael felt the sword guiding him—his hands moved on their own. He slashed, and the mist-being howled as the glowing blade tore through it. One clean cut. Silence followed.
They stood, breathless.
"You're not just carrying magic," Eira said. "You are magic."