A pulse of fate magic erupted from the star atop my staff, washing over the deck in a storm of stars. They concentrated on Victor, drawn from their chaotic flow to his smothered soul like moths to a flame. The hero faltered, face paling as it wrapped around him. Fyren's sword leaped forward, scoring a long, bloody cut across his arm, cleaving his bracer in twain.
But as my magic reached for the heart curse binding his soul, an unfamiliar power sheathed his soul. Liberation washed off it like rain on a window, dissipating as it dripped onto the ship. A sudden backlash struck me, sending me staggering across the deck. Black dots spun across my vision, and hot, coppery blood burned my throat.
