A deafening silence blanketed the chamber—thick, taut, and unnatural. The only sound was the rhythmic hum of the containment orb, faint yet growing. Then, like the surface of water disturbed by breath, the orb rippled.
Every sorcerer and healer in the room froze. Even the groans of mana exhaustion and the faint tremors from those near collapse vanished into stunned awe.
Theo's hand, which had been trembling as he pushed healing currents into the barrier, stilled. A whisper of power flickered across the surface of the orb—and then it began.
Silvermist's hair, once tousled swirling by the force within the orb shimmered as though kissed by moonlight. Slowly each strand turned completely silver—brilliant and pure, like liquid starlight melting down her back. It lengthened up to her thighs, smoothed, and swayed despite the still air.
