Max inhaled sharply, steadying himself. With a flick of his hand, the air rippled and opened into his Dimension of Spirit. From its depths, he carefully drew out a slender figure and laid her gently onto the bed beside them.
Lenavira.
Her silver hair spilled across the pillow, her pale skin marred by faint black veins that pulsed faintly with the curse that bound her. She looked fragile, almost ethereal, her body motionless in the cruel stillness of her unconscious state.
Lucien's calm demeanor shattered the instant he saw her. His eyes widened, his body blurring from his seat in a flash of speed. In less than a heartbeat, he stood beside her, leaning over her form with visible alarm.
"Lenavira?" His voice was sharp, trembling with uncharacteristic urgency. His red hair fell forward as he examined her face. "She's… in her dark elf state? How… how did this happen?"
For the first time since entering the room, Max saw Lucien shaken.
