The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as Emery navigated the winding, dimly-lit tunnels of the Citadel. A heavy sense of dread weighed on his heart, every beat echoing his growing fear for the safety of Master Flemming. She was alone, vulnerable in the chamber that housed the spirit soul room, a place of immeasurable value, and now, a potential target.
As he drew closer, his spirit sense began to pick up signs of disturbance. The sensation was subtle at first but quickly intensified, a ripple in the fabric of magical energy that told him something was terribly wrong.
Someone was definitely fighting in that room. The sense of urgency escalated into a sharp pang of fear that tightened around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.
He sprinted the last few yards, his heart pounding in his ears, and burst into the room, only to be greeted by the very sight he had feared.
Blood.
