The barrier of raw power that had encased Jorghan like a cocoon of liquid flame began to recede, pulling back into his trembling form.
The orange radiance that had threatened to consume everything it touched now pulsed beneath his skin instead, turning his veins into rivers of molten light.
As the deadly sphere contracted, Sigwuarna's charred flesh began to heal—blackened skin sloughing away to reveal her former skin, her magic in effect.
She surged forward, ignoring the pain that still lanced through her body, and wrapped her arms around him. The heat coming off his skin was devastating—like embracing a forge. Her flesh sizzled where it met his, but she didn't flinch, didn't pull away.
Pain was temporary. Loss was forever.
Jorghan's vision swam, reality fracturing and reforming with each laboured breath. Through the haze of agony and power, he saw her face—skin blistered but healing, eyes shining with a mother's fear that cut deeper than any blade.
