The cavern was thick with scorching heat and the tang of blood, tinged by a sharper, newborn metallic scent.
Karrion Ironforge panted heavily, his dwarf-stout frame rising and falling with each ragged breath.
He lowered his gaze to the Starfire Blade in his hands—its edge still stained with the tainted ichor of the corrupted beasts.
The blade's golden blaze had subsided, leaving only the dark-red veins pulsing faintly like a living heartbeat.
Yet its power still surged in his grip, as though he held the heart of a storm in his palm.
"Not bad," he muttered, granting his workmanship its first measure of approval.
Then, with a sudden shift, he turned to the far edge of the platform.
There lay Raine Morningstar, utterly motionless.
Karrion strode across the sweltering stone, heavy boots thudding with each step.
Crouching, his rough fingers sought Raine's neck.
The pulse was so faint it felt like a candle's flicker in the wind.
Raine's face was deathly pale, lips cracked, utterly devoid of color.
His chest barely rose—one breath away from stillness.
Lines of worry etched themselves deep into Karrion's weathered brow.
"You boy…" he growled softly, anxiety laced through his voice.
He wasn't a healer, but dwarves possessed an innate attunement to life's ebb and flow.
Raine's condition was far worse than he'd feared.
It wasn't mere exhaustion or unconsciousness.
He sensed Raine's star-forged blood running wild—an untamed steed of magic.
The bloodletting ritual had siphoned off nearly every drop of power.
The backlash of his own starblood—coupled with the seismic backlash of the earth's veins—raged, tearing at his fragile life thread.
Karrion fetched a rune-stone from his belt pouch, its glow a faint emerald pulse.
A common dwarven emergency rune, it could ignite bursts of vitality.
Pressing it to Raine's brow, he intoned ancient Dwarven words of restoration.
"Baruk Khazâd!"
The rune-stone flared, its green light seeking to seep into Raine's form.
But upon contact, an invisible chaos repelled it, and even the rune stone's glow dimmed.
"Blast it!" Karrion cursed, withdrawing the rune-stone.
Ordinary cures would not suffice.
Raine's internal energies churned like boiling magma—any interference risked a catastrophic detonation.
He was a fragile glass vessel, one wrong move from shattering beyond repair.
Thalia Nightwhisper had watched in silence from nearby.
Her face was ghostly in the dancing firelight, worry plain in her eyes.
Karrion rose, glancing between Thalia and the fallen Raine.
He knew there was nothing more he could do.
To force a cure would only backfire.
"Watch over him," he instructed Thalia in a low tone, imbued with command.
He had more pressing duties.
The dwarven smith entrusted Raine's fate to the witch.
He turned to the Starfire Blade, wedged in a rock fissure.
He needed to fully understand this newborn divine weapon.
To sense its nature and master its power.
Karrion gently drew the sword.
Its warmth was immediate, a constant pulse of power flowing into him.
He closed his eyes, extending his spirit into the blade.
The pure strength of starlight.
The savage fury of Earthfire.
And a whisper of Raine's star-forged blood essence.
These three forces, melded by dwarven runes, formed a wondrous yet perilous balance.
Karrion's focus was absolute.
He even examined the remains of the purified corrupted beasts.
Though most were reduced to ash, fragments remained.
Twisted bone shards, corrupted tissue—perhaps salvageable for further forging.
A practical dwarf, he wasted nothing.
Their journey was far from over, and the Fallen Star City lay ahead, fraught with unknown dangers.
Every scrap of preparation might prove lifesaving at the crucial moment.
He busied himself gathering these remnants, ignoring the stir behind him.
Thalia exhaled in relief at his unwavering focus.
She quickly kneeled beside Raine, her movements delicate as a whisper.
Her eyes swept his lifeless face, a wordless ache rising in her heart.
He must not die.
Never.
Thalia closed her eyes, her long lashes casting soft shadows on her pale cheeks.
With a trembling hand, she pressed gently against Raine's chest.
Through torn fabric, she felt his faint heartbeat and the chaotic surges of star-blood within.
She drew a deep breath, resolve steeling her nerves.
In the next heartbeat, she tapped into her deepest secret.
At her chest, where the shard of star-heart lay, her curse and her source of power.
A gentle, peerless starlight began to well up from the shard.
Not the wild flare of Raine's starblood.
But calm, compassionate—a breath of ancient mercy.
Like the clearest moonlight—or a newly born star.
It coursed down her arm, through her palm, gently entering Raine's body.
Ssssh…
As though ice had met spring's kiss.
The pure sting of starlight slipped carefully past the raging currents within him.
It flowed like a gentle stream, nourishing a parched riverbed.
Mending his shattered channels.
Soothing his unleashed magic.
Quelling the lethal chaos of his power.
It was a painstaking, spirit-draining ritual.
Thalia focused every fiber of her being to guide each mote of light.
She had to heal him without igniting further turmoil.
Seconds ticked by like hours.
Only the magma's gurgle and Karrion's distant hammer-echo broke the silence.
Thalia grew paler with each passing moment.
Sweat darkened her forehead, hairs clinging to her skin.
Her body quivered as a wave of dizziness washed over her.
Each outpouring of power drained her life's essence.
The star-shard within her wellspring and her hourglass.
Every spark she lent hastened her sands of time.
She felt the first silver threads creeping into her ebony hair.
A clear sign that her vitality was overdrawn.
Gritting her teeth, she fought the spell of faintness.
Her eyes never left Raine's ashen face.
Watching his furrowed brow slowly relax.
His ragged breaths lengthened and grew steady.
His bloodless cheeks regaining faint hints of life.
A wordless relief—and a resolute sorrow—flooded her heart.
It had been worth it.
So long as he survived.
At last, Raine's internal storm subsided.
Still gaunt, yet the worst of the peril had passed.
His life force settled into a steady rhythm.
Thalia withdrew her hand.
As she retracted, exhaustion hit her in waves—she nearly collapsed.
She steadied herself with trembling limbs, inhaled deeply, and fought back the darkness.
Swiftly, she smoothed her robes, wiped her brow, and masked her fatigue.
At that moment, Karrion appeared to finish his labors.
Brushing ash from his gauntlets, he hefted jagged beast bones and crystals before turning back.
"How's our boy?" he grunted as he approached.
Thalia rose and, feigning concern, dabbed a clean cloth across Raine's brow.
"Better," she said, her voice betraying a hint of weakness. "His breathing's much steadier."
Karrion moved to Raine's side to recheck the pulse.
As expected, the pulse, though still faint, had grown stronger.
His breaths flowed more evenly.
And his complexion carried a touch more color.
Karrion exhaled, tension leaving his broad shoulders.
"Seems he's pulling through," he murmured. "Star-blood is a headache—but it has its uses."
His gaze lingered on Raine's recovery, the weight on his heart easing—for now.
But his brow knitted once more as he looked to Thalia.
"You…" he began, taking in her ghostly pallor and the exhaustion in her eyes.
He sensed she was far worse off than when she'd faced down the corrupted beasts earlier.
Weaker, perhaps, than in any prior confrontation.
"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, suspicion in his tone. "You look awful."
Thalia turned away, avoiding his probing gaze, smoothing Raine's collar instead.
"Nothing," she whispered, her voice shaky. "Just… exhausted. I've been on edge all this time."
"Is that so?" he muttered, stroking his coarse beard, doubt flickering in his eyes.
He wasn't entirely convinced.
Raine's sudden recovery and Thalia's instant collapse had coincided.
There was a connection here, he was sure.
Yet Thalia wouldn't say—and so he couldn't be certain.