The air was thick with magic, crackling with an intensity that sent tremors through the ground beneath our feet.
Where otherworldly powers collided, the land was left a ruin—trees blackened by fire, the ground ripped apart by forces beyond human understanding.
The battlefield bore witness to the struggle between light and darkness, decided one man's destiny.
At the heart of the chaos, Edee and Vesperia stood unwavering, their combined power weaving luminous ribbons of energy that cut through the darkness like celestial threads.
Their magic was tangible, pressing against my skin, a living entity that pulsed and shimmered in waves, warping the very fabric of reality as they began their sacred ritual to purge Erevan of the darkness entwined with his soul.
From Edee's outstretched palm, silver dust scattered into the wind, glimmering like fallen stars as they caught in unseen currents.
Her voice, low and melodic, blended with the clairvoyant's deep chants, their harmonized incantations echoing through the battlefield like the hum of an ancient prophecy.
The air vibrated with power, thick with the scent of burning sage and iron, an offering to the forces beyond.
Vesperia lifted her hands, summoning the ancestral spirits of the elven realm. Her presence was radiant, her aura a golden beacon against the encroaching shadows.
The spirits answered her call, their whispers carried by the wind, their spectral forms flickering in and out of sight. With a commanding gesture, she directed their energy toward Erevan, her emerald eyes burning with celestial fire.
A piercing, guttural scream tore from Erevan's throat. His body arched, contorting as he struggled against the purification searing through his veins.
Shadows clung to him, writhing like living tendrils, resisting the relentless force of the cleansing light. His once-strong frame trembled under the weight of the magic pressing down upon him, veins pulsing with both agony and resistance.
"Don't stop!!"
Silvanor's sharp command rang through the battlefield.
He and the remaining elven warriors tightened their formation, their weapons drawn, forming an impenetrable barrier against any interference. Their faces were grim, their stances unwavering as they braced for the unknown.
Edee gritted her teeth, her face contorted in agony as she poured more of her essence into the ritual. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her fingers twitching as if pulling unseen threads of fate.
She let out all the power she had, pouring her very soul and body into the effort, until one of her eyes clouded over in a milky haze—an irreversible sacrifice for her efforts.
"Finally..." she whispered, the weight of her sacrifice pressing upon her.
The clairvoyant's staff trembled in his grip, his knuckles white as he channeled his foresight, forcing open the veil that bound Erevan's fate.
The strain took its toll. His body convulsed, and with a final surge of energy, he collapsed to his knees. His breath was shallow, his left leg rendered useless from the exertion. He became crippled, yet his spirit remained unbroken.
"Victory will be ours!" he declared, unbothered by his new disability.
His voice rang with conviction, carrying across the battlefield like a declaration to the heavens.
Vesperia's hands trembled as she pressed forward, her power surging to its very limit. The strain was visible in the deep furrows of her brow, the way her chest heaved with exertion.
Then, with a sharp cry, she faltered. A thin, fresh scar marred her once-unblemished face, crimson staining her fingertips as she pressed a hand to the wound.
A final, blinding surge of energy exploded outward, a shockwave of light and sound that shattered the lingering darkness.
Erevan let out a bloodcurdling cry as the corruption was ripped from him, shrieking like a wounded beast before evaporating into nothingness.
The force of it sent warriors—both ally and enemy—toppling to the ground.
Then, silence.
The battlefield, once filled with the roar of combat, fell eerily still. The darkened sky above parted, revealing the first rays of dawn breaking through the dissipating storm clouds. The air was lighter, the heaviness of corruption lifted.
They had succeeded.
Erevan lay motionless on the battlefield, his body eerily still. His once-corrupted veins were now pale, his breathing shallow but present. The weight of his sins no longer twisted his features, yet the price of his redemption remained unknown.
Somewhere in the distance, a groan broke the silence. A shift in the air. A presence stirring from the depths of unconsciousness.
Dylan lay on a cot inside one of the healing chambers, his body drenched in sweat, muscles taut as if trapped within the throes of a nightmare. Then, with a sharp inhale, his eyes snapped open.
A low gasp escaped his lips as he shot upright, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his mind scrambled to process his surroundings.
He struggled upright, his muscles protesting, but he pushed forward, determination overriding pain. Without hesitation, he swung his legs outside and stood, wavering slightly before steadying himself. The stubborn glint in his eyes had not faded.
"What happened?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
My breath hitched, emotions flooding me in a rush of relief.
"Dylan! Thank goodness you're awake." I exhaled, nodding, my limbs heavy with fatigue.
I reached out, my fingers brushing against his wrist.
"It's okay. We've won!" I said, my voice trembling with exhausted joy.
Oregon stepped beside me, his presence solid, a grounding force amidst the uncertainty. His sharp gaze locked onto Erevan's unmoving form, his expression unreadable.
"He's in a coma," he observed, kneeling beside him.
"But he's still here. I believe he's still alive. I can feel it."
A heavy silence settled over us, the weight of everything that had transpired pressing down on our shoulders.