The air hummed with energy, thick with the raw presence of magic. In the dim glow of a single floating orb of light, Elara sat cross-legged at the center of her room, her hands resting lightly on her knees, palms upturned as mana curled around her in slow, deliberate waves. The frost coiling from her fingertips spread outward, crackling softly as the temperature in the room plummeted.
The Zone of Chill wavered.
And then—it cracked.
A thin, hairline fracture split the frozen air around her, a jagged line of disruption in what should have been a seamless barrier of mana.
Elara inhaled sharply, her brow furrowing. Again?
She had been at this for hours, refining her mana control, pushing herself deeper into cultivation. But no matter how much she focused, no matter how precisely she wove her power, something always felt… off.
Her fingers curled slightly, tightening into fists before she exhaled and opened her eyes.
Her room was the same chaotic mess as ever.
