Kamar-Taj: Seventh Hub
Mordo opened his eyes, gasping for breath.
Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, staining the thin snow a deep crimson.
Master Daniel had already left, his whereabouts unknown. The Arcanists assigned here before Master Daniel's departure had not participated in the ritual. They immediately rushed forward and helped up Mordo, who was suffering from Psionic Backlash. He stretched out his convulsing, snow-dusted fingers and pressed hard against his eyes. Bloody tears streamed from beneath his eyelids, as though he meant to crush his own eyeballs. Fortunately, one Arcanist recited a calming purification spell by his ear while the others restrained his limbs. Several seconds later, his mind gradually stabilized. He could not open his eyes for the moment. Although his second sight had suffered tremendous damage, the aura detected by what little second sight he could project still told him an unbearable truth—one so terrible that he had no desire whatsoever to investigate Master Daniel's current whereabouts.
"How long has it been?" He clenched an Arcanist's wrist. "How many monks are still alive?"
"They're all alive, Master Mordo. Their souls have fallen into a labyrinth and cannot break free. No matter how we call to them, it does nothing."
The Arcanist sucked in a sharp breath. Though temporarily blind, Mordo could still sense the tense aura radiating from him, but he had no time for courtesy now. The Arcanist looked toward the square—the Arcanists who had participated in the ritual were still shrouded in an undispersable aura of terror. It had taken tremendous effort to keep them from biting off their own fingers in panic or being scared to death alive. They had forced those Arcanists into sleep, using dreams to flee from their fear. As for the ascetics, they were still chanting their spells. Yet without