Ethan stood at a distance, watching it all unfold with a quiet, unreadable gaze.
He knew exactly what Malakar was doing—forcing his wounded, unstable divine body into cohesion, locking it into its first true state of stability. The cost? For a short window, Malakar wouldn't be able to launch another devastating attack.
And that window… was Ethan's only chance to catch up.
He exhaled slowly, steadying his breath, then raised a hand.
A streak of light burst from his chest—Idra, emerging like a blade drawn from its sheath. She hovered in midair, arms outstretched, and the power of the Dragon God poured from her like a river of stars. She began siphoning the ambient energy still drifting through the battlefield, channeling it straight back into Ethan's body in a relentless surge.
Above, Feylora landed silently on his shoulder.
