The White Wolf Luna
she said, her voice fierce.
The Flame’s figure lunged, its fire crashing against their barrier, burning not with heat but with erasure, threatening to unmake them, their world, their choices. The stars above flickered, their light dimming, and the golden horizon began to fray, its threads unraveling into the rift.
But Agnes’s song returned, faint but unbroken, a single note of defiance that wove through their magic. The barrier held, and the Flame’s figure staggered, its fire dimming for a moment.
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