The last of the marsh spirits sank beneath the surface with a sound like a dying breath, leaving only ripples to mark where they had been.
Silence descended over the marsh, broken only by the ragged breathing of the companions and the soft drip of water from their sodden clothes. The unnatural fog began to lift, morning light filtering through in pale, tentative beams.
Apollo stood at the center of their shrinking island, trembling. The golden light that had poured from his skin moments before faded gradually, retreating beneath the surface like a tide pulling back to sea.
His legs threatened to buckle as the power drained from him, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made even drawing breath an effort.
