Zian

*He draws the bowstring back, muscles coiled like a spring, and aims not at the well, but at the dense clouds above it.* Let's see you sleep through this, beast.

*The arrow is released. It punches through the low-hanging clouds with a sharp crack of thunder. The runes on the arrowhead ignite, burning with a cold, white fire that tears a gaping, glowing hole in the gray mass above.*

*The sudden downpour is a shock of ice on his skin, but his gaze remains locked on the well. He waits.*