(Almira’s POV)
The healers said he wouldn’t wake up for a few more days—if at all.
But that didn’t stop me from sitting beside him every hour, barely blinking.
Lysander lay still on the white stone bed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His body had been torn apart—burned, slashed, cursed—and still, he had shielded me. Thrown himself into the blast radius of a dark witch’s spell with nothing but his body as a shield.
It should’ve killed him.
It almost did.
I sat on the edge of the cot, my hand over his. I had changed the bandages myself. Cleaned the blood from his face. Whispered his name like a prayer while the healers worked in silence. And when they had all given up, it was my tears—my grief—that had triggered the magic that saved him.
The Sunstone had bloomed fr
