Tave was still sprawled on the floor, barely able to move, when someone knelt beside him. That clean, glowing face. That soft golden hair that always seemed to catch the light just right.
Panpan.
She leaned in, watching him carefully, as if trying to determine whether he was still breathing.
"Hey… are you okay?" she asked gently.
Tave could barely breathe, the air wheezing in and out of his lungs. The fire of Kaelira still surged weakly through his veins, not with power now, but with a flickering intent to heal him, like an exhausted flame stubbornly clinging to life.
Panpan offered her hand.
Tave reached up and took it, letting her pull him into a sitting position, though every muscle screamed in protest.
In the center of the room, Elincia still stood, unmoving. But the stillness she wore now was different. It wasn't calm. It wasn't composed. It was cold. Dangerous.
She stepped forward. Tave instinctively braced himself and tried to stand.
