Atlas's eyes snapped open.
For a moment, he expected to hear the rumble of more explosions. Roaring shockwaves, crashing debris, the thunder of battle.
But what he felt instead... was silence.
A gentle breeze brushed against his face. And when his vision cleared, he saw her, Lyrassa.
She was smiling down at him, soft and warm, her blond hair catching the filtered sunlight that broke through the dense canopy. Atlas realized then, he was resting on her lap. His head tilted slightly, her hand gently wrapped around his left, cool and steady.
"You're alright, My Lord," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Atlas blinked. His body ached all over, and his head throbbed from the overload of spells he'd unleashed. But more than anything, he was alive.
He glanced around, quickly scanning the area. They were a distance away from the scorched battlefield, now nestled in the shadow of a massive tree. It seemed Lyrassa had carried him away from the epicenter of his own destruction.
