Aamir knelt beside his mother's body, the fire around them dimming into nothingness. His trembling hands lifted her gently, cradling her head onto his lap. Her silver hair, matted with blood and dirt, still carried the faint warmth of life.
She was smiling.
Even in death, she smiled—because she had seen her son one last time.
Aamir's throat tightened. His hand brushed against her forehead, and then—he froze.
A faint glow pulsed there.
Five radiant clover leaves burned softly upon her skin, the same mark that had flared when she unleashed her final strength against Zorwath's generals. The mark shimmered once, twice—and then, to Aamir's shock, it shifted.
The glow lifted like a drifting flame and slid across the air, entering his body through his brow.
"W-What—?" Aamir gasped, his body jerking as a searing pain erupted in his skull.
He gritted his teeth, clutching his head, the body of his mother still held against him. His breath grew ragged.
