The rain mixed with the blood on Korran’s blade as he staggered through the ruined temple. The air shimmered with dying magic, the sorcerer’s wards collapsing after their master’s skull met stone.
Korran’s prize lay on an obsidian altar—an emerald amulet, pulsing with faint green light. He reached for it, but a whisper of cold brushed his fingers. A shade, the sorcerer’s last curse.
The specter lunged. Korran rolled, slashing through its misty form. The cut burned cold. Shadows wrapped his arm like chains, seeping into his flesh. He gritted his teeth and seized the amulet with his free hand.
A surge of power roared through him, shattering the curse. But the cost was clear—his arm, withered to bone beneath the sleeve.
He laughed, harsh and bitter. Another victory, another price. He slid the amulet into his pouch and stepped back into the storm, knowing the fight was never truly over.
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