The battlefield was silent but for the ragged breaths of the living. The dead lay shattered, their dark energy dissipating into nothingness, and the Moon Goddess’s silver light bathed everything in an ethereal glow.
But Azeo didn’t see the victory. All he saw was the girl in his arms, limp, pale, and fading. Her chest rose in shallow, ragged breaths, and her red-tinged eyes — the mark of her power — flickered like dying embers.
“McKenna…” His voice broke, raw and trembling, a growl lodged deep in his throat. His hands shook as he pressed her to his chest, trying to anchor her to him, trying to will her to fight, to survive.
Her lips parted, a single ragged sigh escaping. Her hand, weak and trembling, brushed against his chest. “Azeo…” she whispered, barely audible, her voice fading like
