I had awoken to the tremor in the air—the ghost of the spirit's death‑shriek still echoing through the bones of Veilwood. The dawn had already fully come, pale gold spilling over the shattered ruins of the temple, but the maelstrom of dark magic that had hung about the stones last night teemed with what felt like a life all its own now in the morning light. I laid my hand upon the chilling stone base of the altar, upon which now rested the grunting Moonclaw--flaring oh so lightly with power--and I prepared for the next challenge.
Kael was laying next to me, panting hard, each inhale sounded like he was inhaling for the first time. For so long twisted with jointer's curse, his gnarled hands quivered with vitality. I'd watched, in awe at the surge of strength in the muscles of his shoulders and the rise of his chest with the promise of restored power. But his eyes were haunted, half‑lidded against the dazzle of new possibilities.
