Joram couldn't move.Mosiah held him firmly, staring at him with a sneer, the halo of the cemetery reflected in his blue eyes. "Mosiah!" cried Joram angrily, and the fear welling up in him gradually turned him as cold as stone. "Let go!" He suddenly twisted his body, trying to get rid of the restraint of the young man in front of him, but it was all in vain.The arms tightened around him, and he knew now what the force holding him was - and he grew more and more afraid - magic.He was caught by a spell!Joram writhed to reach for the Darksword.But as the iron arm of magic tightened, he soon lost all his strength.

The struggle that followed was not to get the sword, but to survive—struggling to breathe.Joram gasped and stared into Mosiah's face, wondering what was going on.He heard a scream somewhere, a woman's scream cut off with a deft touch.He wanted to talk, but he couldn't breathe at all.The darkness of the sacred forest quickly overwhelmed his vision.Death was approaching, so he stopped fighting and waited for the end of the pain. The arms that clamped him were familiar with this response and relaxed.Mosiah's face smiled and recited a word, and then the face disappeared. Joran raised his head at the last moment before losing consciousness, and saw the snow-white skin and expressionless face of a woman in black robe, who hugged him tightly until he fell down.

She lowered him gently to the ground.As he slowly regained consciousness, he heard her warning a companion he couldn't see clearly. "Don't touch that sword."