*The Battlefield — Moments After the Lightstorm*
Smoke curled around the crater like mist.
Ryder still knelt at the center, shielding Crystal’s limp form with his body. His hands trembled where they gripped her shoulders.
She was warm, too warm like wildfire trapped in mortal skin.
“Crystal,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face. Her lashes fluttered, silver light still flickering.
Around them, the field was silent.
Not dead.
Not alive.
Just still.
Wolves and warriors who had survived the blast rose slowly to their feet, dazed.
Some stared at the glowing imprint scorched into the earth. A perfect circle of silver flame, humming with energy.
“She is breathing,” Ryder whispered, his voice hoarse. “Come back to me, little flame…”
Crystal gasped.
Her eyes snapped open, glowi
