It started in Fireshear. The warlock energy that had been building since the pact, the College of Glamour's enchantment that had been turning inward — they stopped pulling in opposite directions and fused.
Dustin layered Minor Illusion over his flute, conjuring sounds no instrument could produce: a driving beat, a bass line that hummed in the chest, the crash of drums that existed only as magic shaped like sound. The Dao's earth element gave it weight. The glamour gave it reach. And the raw power that had been growing since the warlock turn — the energy he'd spent months learning to control — finally broke free.
Not darker. Not heavier. Liberated. The shadow of the veil was still there, but it wasn't in charge anymore. This was Dustin playing the pact instead of the pact playing him. Celtic metal, folk rock reborn, a wall of sound that shook tavern walls and made the air taste of ozone and stone dust.