Page 48 of Roaring Spell

The explosion comes without warning.

Pure magical force erupts from the ground like a geyser of concentrated wrongness. The rose bush disintegrates—petals and thorns scattered like shrapnel. The salt circle shatters. Anouk is thrown backward.

And I’m falling⁠—

Arms wrap around me. Massive. Immovable. Torin spins me against his chest, putting his back to the explosion, and then⁠—

Impact.

The magical backlash hits him like a physical blow. I feel it through his body—the shudder, the grunt of pain, the way his muscles lock against the assault. Power crashes over us in waves, dark and twisted and wrong, and he just... takes it. Plants his feet and holds me while the magic tries to tear us apart.

I feel the wrongness trying to reach me—the siphon’s dying rage, lashing out at anything nearby. But Torin absorbs it. All of it. His natural resistance turned into a living shield.

Magic like that should be tearing through him. He doesn’t move.

Seconds stretch into eternity. The world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the hammer of his heart against my ear, the terrible heat of the magic washing over us.

Then silence.

His arms loosen. He stumbles.

Falls.

“Torin!” I’m on my knees beside him. “Torin, talk to me⁠—”

His eyes are open. Unfocused. Blood trickles from his nose, dark against his skin. His breathing is wrong—too shallow, too fast.

“I’m fine.” His voice is strained. Wrong.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Superficially.” He tries to sit up. Fails. His arms shake with the effort. “Just need a minute.”

“You absorbed a magical explosion with your body.”

“Seemed like the right move.” His hand finds mine. Squeezes weakly. “I’m okay. Just... need rest.”

“Anouk!” I scream toward the Registry. “He’s hurt!”

The next hour is a blur.

Somehow, we get Torin to Thornveil Apothecary. He’s conscious but barely, leaning on me in a way that would be intimate under other circumstances but feels terrifying now.

Anouk’s treatment room is clinical—white walls, steel surfaces, shelves lined with healing supplies. She works with efficient precision, peeling back his shirt to reveal the damage.

The magical burns spread across his back like a map of violence. Dark lines where the power tried to cut through his resistance. Blistered patches where it almost succeeded.

“His bear protected him.” Anouk doesn’t look up from her work. “Natural resistance absorbed most of the impact. But he’ll need time to recover.”

“Will he be okay?”

“He should be. The burns are severe but treatable.” She doesn’t promise. Can’t promise. “But he pushed past his limits protecting you.”

Protecting me.

The door bursts open.

Leire appears first, pale and worried. “We heard. Aslan told me. Are you okay?”