The battlefield still smoldered, the sky above split by the remnants of spirit fire and shadowflame. Bodies—both spirit-forged and flesh—littered the ravaged ground, and though the tide had turned in Aria's favor, it came at a cost too great to measure. Blood soaked into the cracked earth, hissing where it met the shattered runes that once held the veil between worlds in place.
Aria stood at the center of it all, her body trembling from the weight of the battle and the consequences still unfolding. The spirit crown shimmered faintly above her head, and silver runes crawled like vines along her arms, glowing with fading intensity. Her wolf, no longer just a part of her soul, now stood beside her—a being of pure silver flame, eyes ancient, body fluid between form and light.
Caleb knelt beside the fallen body of Rowan.
Not dead. Not quite alive either.
