Shellia stirred slowly, her senses returning piece by piece—the rough texture of stone beneath her palms, the faint scent of scorched earth, and the distant hum of magic that refused to fade even after the battle. When she opened her eyes, soft golden light flickered nearby. Allen was crouched beside her, quietly tending to a small, contained flame.
"You're awake," he said gently, relief slipping through his calm tone.
Her throat was dry. "How long was I out?"
"About an hour," he replied. "You drained everything back there. You shouldn't push yourself like that, Shellia."
She forced a weak smile. "If I hadn't, we'd all be part of that corruption now."
Allen didn't argue—he simply opened his inventory and produced a meal pack. "Eat first. You won't make it far otherwise."
