POV: MORGANA
The moment I touched the Stone, I understood why Elara was screaming.
It wasn't pain—not exactly. It was the sensation of being unmade. Of having the fundamental structure of your existence pulled apart thread by thread and woven into something else.
My life force flowed out in a torrent of golden light, joining Elara's weakening stream. The combined power crashed against Vaerix's will like a wave against stone.
And the stone began to crack.
Through my assassin's training, I'd learned to channel life force into weapons, into strikes, into killing blows. The Crimson Order had taught me that the soul was just another resource to be weaponized.
I'd never imagined using that training to save lives instead of taking them.
The Stone drank from me greedily. My essence, my will, everything I was poured into the magical matrix. I could feel it working—could feel Vaerix's command weakening, dissolving under the combined assault of two souls united in purpose.
