SAGE
Dig into my wells?
Even in the middle of the battlefield, the instruction felt maddeningly vague, but the question barely had time to fully form in my head before the air shifted—thickened—and the Queen's voice rose into the sky, low and guttural, chanting words that made my skin crawl.
Dark words. Ancient. Wrong. Panic flared immediately, proving El was right: the Queen was gearing up for her final blow.
"Focus," El urged inside me. I tried—Goddess, I tried—but my pulse was racing too fast, my thoughts were too scattered, and my nerves were too raw from the relentless drain of black magic.
The Queen's power was building, swelling, and every instinct in me screamed that if I didn't move soon, this would end badly. Very badly.
El, I called, desperation threading through the thought, can't you dig into it yourself?
There was a pause, and then she answered gently, "No, Sage. This is yours. Only you can reach it."
