The scene before Sir Orion was a chaotic tableau: Alex on his knees, battered and panting, two masked elves writhing in agony under the grip of his infliction, a third standing frozen with indecision, and a smoldering shrub casting faint shadows across the path.
The professor's sharp demand "What in the name of the stars is going on here?" still hung in the air, his voice a blade that sliced through the tension.
Alex's head throbbed, his scorched arm and bruised side pulsing with pain, but the sudden arrival of Sir Orion jolted him, his focus wavering.
In his surprise, Alex's grip on his infliction faltered, the mental effort slipping like sand through his fingers.
The invisible wave of power dissipated, and the two elves caught in its grasp staggered upright, their groans fading.
The third elf, already poised to flee, seized the moment. Without a word, the trio bolted, their paper bag masks crumpling as they sprinted into the dense trees lining the path.
