Gurudza knelt on the cold earth, holding Mukura in his arms as though his strength alone could keep her tethered to the world. Her body lay limp against his chest, her breath shallow and uneven. No matter how tightly he held her, she did not respond.“Mukura…” His voice broke. “Please.”Her eyes were open, glassy and unfocused, staring into a darkness only she could see. The scream Gwanhoya had released earlier—an ancient, soul-shaking cry—had stolen her strength, locking her inside her own body. Mukura could hear Gurudza’s voice, could feel the warmth of his hands trembling against her, yet she could not move. She could not speak. She could only watch his tears fall onto her face.Above them, the moon hung heavy and pale, illuminating the battlefield scarred by magic and struggle. From the edge of the clearing, unseen but present, the god Wezhira observed in silence.Then the air changed.A voice—deep, hoarse, and ancient—rolled across the land like distant thunder.“Just as you forso
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