Page 12 of Elven Throne

When she cried out, she never heard it. If anything else had existed with her inside this layer of the storm, it had already been destroyed.

Then she saw it.

The brightest point of all within the churning storm of light and heat.

Thathadto be the center. Just a few steps farther…

If it wasn’t, she was screwed.

Just before she reached that center, the storm let out another thunderous groan and shudder, vibrating around her.

Rebecca pushed herself forward, every muscle straining against the magic forcing her back. Her hands were now numb around the glinting shaft of her spear thrust through the asphalt to leverage her forward.

Another deafening crack cut through everything else before a massive bolt of light skewered jaggedly up into the storm and smashed back down again.

The agony of it crashing into Rebecca’s shoulder was unlike anything she’d felt in such a very long time, but the all-consuming pain of it was instantly familiar.

Screaming, Rebecca launched herself forward with a new burst of strength and staggered into the heart of the storm.

The scent of cooking flesh overwhelmed her, battling with the mind-numbing pain until she straightened enough to look down at the wound.

The bolt had burned the top of her shoulder down to the bone, leaving behind a ragged, gaping hole still sizzling at its center within a charred and blackened ring.

Blinking away the tears that only blurred her vision, Rebecca blew away the final tendrils of smoke rising from her flesh and noticed the burnt-red tint to every inch of her visible skin. Her entire body burned and stung, every inch of her fighting for more attention.

She lifted a hand above her blistered shoulder and let her healing magic take over. The renewed burst of agonizing fire shooting down her arm made her cry out again, but it only meant she’d been successful.

Muscle and flesh knitted back together beneath that golden glow from her palm, which now seemed duller than ever beneath blinding white enshrouding everything else around her.

She didn’t have time to heal herself completely, but what shehadmanaged would do for now.

Breathing heavily and unsure whether her pained tears had receded or merely slid down her cheeks, unfelt beneath the oppressive heat, she looked up and finally realized where she was.

The very center of the vortex. The opposite of everything she had just endured to get here.

The near-perfect silence was eerie in comparison, the chaos of the raging battle outside completely shut out now. The only other sound beyond Rebecca’s own haggard breath was a warm, buzzing hum that deviated neither in volume nor in pitch.

The pure white light still remained, but without all the violence through which she had just pushed.

It was calm, here. Peaceful, even.

Rebecca might have believed the illusion if it weren’t for Zida standing directly in front of her.

The healer’s arms were still spread wide to either side, her limbs trembling with effort as her magic vibrated through her from head to toe. With that thrumming vibration came a constant strobe from within the old daraku. The same brilliant white glare lit her up from the inside.

Her usual attire of a large, shapeless, sack-like dress—of which she owned a wide variety—had already been affected by the surge of her magic. Most of it had burned away, the sleeves almost nonexistent and the hem charred and torn to strips inches above the daraku’s knees. What remained whipped about her body in a breeze that didn’t exist.

All of it had slowly been burning away this whole time, but it wouldn’t last much longer.

Zida’s hair, though—the thin, colorless whisps that had barely covered her nearly bald head before—was entirely gone.

All visible signs of Zida’s age had disappeared. Not that she looked young again, exactly. Not even that she looked old or anything in between.

The daraku had become something not of this world.

She always had been.

Rebecca took another small, hesitantly staggering step toward the healer before finally noticing Zida’s eyes, and the sight made her stop.