"Cough…"
Velra staggered, her knees threatening to buckle as she tried to stand upright.
Blood spilled freely from her lips.
"This… can't be happening. It can't…"
She pressed a trembling hand against the gaping wound near her chest, trying to force her essence back into her body, to seal the damage with sheer willpower. Threads of crimson energy flickered weakly around her palm—fighting, resisting, failing.
But it was useless.
Drip. Drip.
The sound of her blood striking the snow was almost rhythmic, each drop marking the slow collapse of her strength.
Velra's once-fiery eyes dimmed, twisting with disbelief and fury. She could feel it—the core of her power, the very essence that had defined her existence for centuries—slipping away like sand between her fingers.
"Disgraceful…" she hissed through gritted teeth.
