Immediately after Ibarin slammed his fist against his chest, the signal was given. His core split open like a cracking shell, releasing a violent surge of magic as wind wrapped around him in a spiraling wall.
In an instant, it condensed so densely that it became visible to the naked eye, raging bands of air solidifying around his form like spinning armor. The air around Ibarin began to hum, a low, eerie tremor that rattled the broken stones beneath his feet.
Dust lifted from the ground, drawn toward him as if some invisible hand were pulling every grain closer. His hair whipped upward.
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