The silence that followed was not the silence of peace. It was the kind that hummed, deep and restless — like a breath being held by the world itself.
The Rift had stopped shaking, yet the ground beneath them still pulsed faintly as though it were alive.
At the centre of the chamber, Eryndor lay motionless, his body half-bathed in golden light and half-consumed by shadows that writhed like living things.
Lyra was the first to reach him. She dropped to her knees, her fingers trembling as she pressed them against his neck. “He’s alive,” she breathed, relief flooding her voice. “But something’s… wrong.”
Aria knelt beside her, her palm hovering over his chest. The faint glow that once came from him now flickered erratically — bursts of gold laced with black veins of shadow. “The balance is
