The innkeeper staggered, knocking over a stool, his hands desperately clawing at his neck.
He looked directly at Kyle—fear and urgency clear in his eyes—and tried to gesture something with his hand before dropping to his knees.
Kyle was already moving. He knelt beside the innkeeper and placed a hand on his back, letting his mana probe the man's body for the source of the attack.
His expression darkened.
Kyle stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he knelt beside the struggling innkeeper.
A wave of violent mana struck him the moment he got close—it wasn't subtle, nor was it part of the man's natural reserves.
This was foreign. Imposed. Controlled.
Kyle let out a breath through his nose and focused, weaving his own mana into a protective veil to filter and push back the hostile force.
"This isn't his."
Kyle muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the air.
