Siret... It WAS her... The sight of his former captor made every muscle of his body lock up. His eyes widened and Galen dared not even blink. Memories flooded back into his mind of his years of torture under her persistent whip. Month upon month, the practitioner of ancient magics would flay the skin from his body and siphon his lifeblood, his mana from him. He along with several other wizards of varying strengths were held and bled this way, used as power generators for ancient machines.

The anger of those memories flooded through his body, reinvigorating his tired muscles and tapping into a deep well of power he usually reserved for dire situations. His eyes began to glow blue and runes burned themselves into the surrounding ground. A dull, pulsing drone penetrated the silence, reaching increasingly higher frequencies as his spell quickly gathered more and more power.

"GRACIOUS?! KIND?!" Galen roared. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! ENSLAVER OF MAGES, TORMENTOR OF WIZARDS!" 
He bellowed at the raven as it flew away, thundering his anger of the atrocities committed years ago. With a shrill, high pitched whine, the circle of runes around him glowed brightly and channeled its energy into Galen. Using himself as a conduit to the incredible amount of power, he gave it purpose, simultaneously sending a bolt of raw magical energy to strike down the raven, casting a protective shroud on all the city, and establishing a strong healing aura within the castle. 

By the time he had finished, crystallized remnants of the magic used littered the floor where the circle of runes stood, now burned out. He watched the dome form, centered on the castle and expanding to encompass the outskirts of the kingdom. He saw some of the remaining soldier's wounds begin to knit closed and color return to their faces. His eyes felt heavy, and his gaze dropped to his hands, most of their flesh consumed during the course of the casting, leaving mere bones wrapped in a thin layer of charred skin. His legs collapsed under the weight of his body, now lacking the muscle to support it. He wondered if his bolt had found its target as the floor rose to meet him.