The silence in the corridor after the illusion’s dissolution was deafening, broken only by Kael’s ragged, shallow breaths. He leaned heavily against the cold stone wall, every inhalation a sharp protest against the phantom spear wound burning in his chest. The scar was not just skin-deep; it felt like a c***k in his connection to the umbra, a dam holding back his power with a searing, holy light.
Elara knelt before him, her own strength sapped, the brilliant potential of her spark now a guttering flame beneath the smothering residue of the purifier magic she’d absorbed. Seeing him like this the unyielding Stalker brought low not by a monster, but by a fear for her unlocked a new, desperate tier of her own power.
This wasn’t about the cosmic spark. This was primal.
“Look at me,” she said
