The world had turned to glass.
Every breath Malvoria tried to take fractured against the inside of her chest. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't summon flame or fury or anything beyond the scream building silently in her throat.
Lucindra's spell held them all like statues, suspended in time and helpless to stop what was unfolding.
Elysia stood to her left, still holding Kaelith's blanket from moments ago. Her wide violet eyes burned with rage and fear.
Raveth, just ahead, had her sword half-drawn, her stance frozen mid-charge. Lara looked like she was trying to scream. And Veylira—her expression was thunderous. But none of them could move.
None of them could stop her.
Lucindra stood alone at the center of the ruined moment, red eyes glowing, her smirk slow and satisfied.
The ballroom's torches dimmed in her presence.
"Well," she murmured, turning her gaze to the floating cradle beside the dais, "aren't you a quiet little thing."
