The tunnel swallowed her whole.
Nysha moved by feel more than sight, the shadows stretching before her like fingers, probing cracks in the stone. Each step echoed with uneven weight, her body too small to bear the burden, her core bleeding power she shouldn't have used.
The cocoon floated beside her, shrouded in tendrils that pulsed faintly as if stitched from her veins. Inside, Lindarion looked less like a warrior than a corpse dressed in blood.
Too still. Too cold.
Nysha clenched her jaw and forced the shadows tighter, weaving them again where they frayed. She had never held a body this way before, she could bind wounds, cradle fragments of flesh, but this was different.
The sword had eaten him hollow, and she was trying to sew him closed with string that wanted to snap.
Ashwing scuttled down her arm, claws clicking against her sleeve, tongue flicking nervously at the cocoon. She stroked his scaled back with one trembling finger.
