The world returned not with silence, but with a gasp — Lyria's lungs burned as she clawed her way back into existence. The Hollow was gone. No — not gone. Receded. Its whispers still lingered beneath her skin like the echo of a fever dream.
The scent of rain and iron filled her nose. They were lying on wet stone, the moon high and cold above them. The ruins of the Sanctum stretched around them, broken pillars and torn banners swaying in the midnight wind.
Lyria pushed herself upright, trembling. "Kael?"
No answer. Only the rustle of wind and the drip of water through cracks. Her heart lurched painfully.
"Kael!"
A low groan broke the quiet. She turned — and there he was, half-shadowed beneath the shattered archway, his body sprawled across the ground. Relief surged through her, violent and bright, until she saw his eyes.
They glowed. But not gold.
A deep, fractured crimson burned where the sunlight once lived.
"Kael…" she whispered, crawling toward him. "You're—"
