The silence inside the Sanctuary was heavy.
Not the silence of peace — but of aftermath.
Soft motes of light drifted through the crystalline air, slowly settling upon the floor like falling snow. The air still hummed faintly from the ritual’s echo, the energy of what they had done rippling through the walls.
Eryndor lay motionless in the centre of the circle.
The gold light under his skin had dimmed to a faint shimmer, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Around him, the sigils Lirien had drawn still glowed, but weakly now — exhausted, like the rest of them.
Aria was the first to move.
She knelt beside him, her hand hovering just above his chest. The warmth she felt beneath her palm was soft, human. No distortion. No chaos.
“He’s stable,” she whispered.
Thorne sank to the ground w
