The air in Celestara was thick with anticipation, each breath woven with the lingering echoes of the recent battles. The group stood on the verge of the celestial nexus, where the threads of their destinies had intertwined. Lyra, the ethereal guide, looked into the distance with a mixture of hope and apprehension. Callie's healing aura enveloped them, knitting the wounds of both body and soul.
In the soft glow of Magica's healing embrace, Victor couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The victories seemed too convenient, the healing too perfect. Unbeknownst to them, Dhazam watched from the shadows of his arcane sanctum, a puppet master orchestrating a grand illusion.
Silas, still connected to the cosmic energies, felt a subtle disturbance. He glanced at the stars, seeking guidance. Unseen by the others, a distant constellation flickered, a celestial Morse code that hinted at the unreality of their surroundings.
