The magical dust began to settle. The shadows had dispersed, and the demonic energy in the air had been swept away by Ahri's presence—still shrouded in a silver aura with blue-gold highlights, her nine tails swaying gently in the wind. But Kael paid little attention to her now.
His eyes were fixed on Exalia.
She lay at the foot of a broken tree, her body sprawled among twisted roots and broken branches. Her armor was in pieces, her chest stained with blood, and her left arm hung as if it had been torn off and hastily reattached. There was a deep gash on her forehead, and her face, though still beautiful, bore the weight of profound pain.
Kael ran to her.
"Exelia!" His voice came out hoarse, a mixture of despair and guilt.
She opened her eyes slowly, too weak to smile, but still with that determined gleam that never left her.
"Still... alive," she murmured. "But... not for long, if you keep looking at me with that widow's face."
