The final flicker died in my palm, a tiny golden ember consumed by the relentless dark. It had bought a second for a boy to scramble back from a shadowy blade, but the cost was absolute. The hollow core where my power had lived was now a frozen, silent cavern. The tear in my vitality from opening the lock gaped wide, a conduit through which the last of my warmth seemed to drain into the frigid air of the shaft. I was empty. A shell propped up by sheer, cracking will.
Around me, the battle was a silent film of terror. The roaring void in my head dulled the distant hiss of shadows, muffled cries, and the desperate grunts of Alaric and the few still fighting. My vision swam, the scene fracturing into smears of blue lamplight, shifting black forms, and pale, terrified faces. I stood on the ledge, my back to the cold stone wall, the abyss a silent promise to my left.
