Alishiera plummeted through the darkness, the weightless void pulling at her like unseen hands desperate to claim her.
The demigod's illusion had been powerful, crafted to ensnare her mind and soul, but she was stronger. She had always been stronger.
As the abyss reached for her, she forced her consciousness to sharpen, to cut through the haze like a blade through silk.
She could still feel the solid weight of Arthivian in her grasp. The moment before she fell, she had reached for it, and the sword, the sacred relic of her husband, had answered her call.
It was a piece of him, a tether that linked their souls. And through that link, she could still feel it. Devancier was alive.
Perhaps imprisoned. Perhaps suffering. But he still breathed.
That was all she needed to know.
A whisper of power surged from her palms, wrapping around the hilts of Arthivian and Elsienflora.
