"Still not fun enough for you?"
Draven offered no reply.
A jagged tremor rippled through the marble underfoot—quiet at first, like a giant clearing its throat—then thunder cracked the chamber's bones. The quartz dais split straight down its golden vein, shards popping loose and clattering away like dice across a gaming board.
Sylara's balance pitched; she caught herself on one palm, feeling icy shock bleed through her glove. Runes that had glowed a steady emerald moments ago now stuttered, flaring crimson in distress.
A second fracture zig‑zagged out from the first, skittering across the floor and up the nearest wall; stone groaned as if it remembered being a tree and couldn't decide which pain hurt worse—splintering or crumbling.
