Leon pushed himself upright, his arm throbbing, the deeper wound fear—Boren's illusion still echoing in his mind.
He watched Terya dance with deadly wind, Zara swing with ferocity, Lysette shine through pain. And he remained still, shame burning hotter than his wound.
Terya crouched beside him, her palm pressing to his good shoulder, her green eyes fierce but grounding.
"Breathe, Leon. You've done harder things than this," she said, her voice steady, her touch infectious.
He shook his head, shame threatening to consume him. "I can't—I froze."
Her fingers brushed his jaw, gentle but firm. "You can. Start with one breath. One arc."
Leon closed his eyes, the Wraith's howl, the stench of blood, the Veil's whispers passing through him.
Wind answered—faint but familiar, tied to Terya's bond.
He exhaled, rising. Across the room, Zara deflected a blood orb with her axe's flat, snarling.
"Any time now, little mage!"
