But I am too far. Much too far.
“Form up on the Sokâr!” I roar, but my voice is swallowed in the storm. Then, through the mess of flailing bodies and black-veined beasts—Thessia. Like fire and thunder, her glaive catches a hound mid-lunge, splitting its skull in two. She grins like a woman on her third drink and bellows something into the wind.
“Keep casting, moonbeam! I’ve got your back!”
By the Void, she makes good on her word. Every blow breaks through the wall of rotting bodies. Every strike gives Auryn one more second to live. I can hardly breathe, my eyes fixed on the silver star in the middle of it all. Nothing more than a speck of light within the maws of shadow.
And yet she is doing it. Weaving the heavens back together thread by Voids-damned thread. Vein by vein.
Anddying.
Burning out right in front of me while I stand petrified in awe.
Unable to stop her.
Unable to do a thing.
The rift shrieks one more time then takes a mighty breath. A pull like a second gravity inhales the remaining varkhounds on the field back inside the narrowing tear. Their claws rip at the ground as they try to find purchase, but this is no mere force. This is a command. Divine. Hers. And they cannot disobey it.
One more pull. Monsters fly through the air, their bodies breaking as they’re yanked through a space too narrow for their bulky forms. Bones crack. Blood and ichor spray out onto the field.
And then it’s over.
The rift closes.
The world stops.
Exhales.
Breathes.
Above it all, the sky sprawls still and quiet—silver-edged clouds drifting over the freshly sealed wound in the heavens. Mana settles like dust in the air, glittering as it falls. No screams now. No shrieks of monsters, no pounding hooves, no clash of metal on bone.
Just breath.
And silence.
Inside, my heart writhes. Burning. Begging. Pleading.
Auryn, Auryn, Auryn—
“Auryn!”
I run again. Half-blind from the brilliance of her light. Half-mad from the sound of her voice echoing in my soul. The air still trembles from the force of her casting.
I run—
Through ash and smoke and silence—
Astenos turns.
And there she is.
Smiling.
Radiant.
Drenched in sweat and silver blood.
