She stood in a barren field beneath a darkened sky. The wind howled, carrying dust across cracked earth. The air reeked of smoke and ash.
And there—on her knees in the dirt—was the woman again. Herself, yet not herself. The same face, the same hair, but older, worn by grief. Tears streaked her cheeks as she pressed the glowing vial against the ground. Around her lay broken weapons, shattered stone, and shadows that whispered hungrily at the edges of the wasteland.
Lira's heart raced. She could feel everything—the despair, the exhaustion, the bitter sting of failure.
"I couldn't protect them," the woman whispered, though this time Lira heard her voice clearly. "I had the Spirit's guidance, and I failed. Everything crumbled… because I wasn't strong enough. Because I hesitated."
