The volcano's once overwhelming heat had given way to an eerie coolness, the dying embers of its former fury fading into memory.
Sulfurous smoke curled lazily from cracks in the brittle terrain, no longer an oppressive haze but a faint reminder of the molten power that had roared through the mountain.
The air was crisp and surprisingly pleasant, bearing the faint tang of minerals and cooling stone.
Above them, the storm clouds that had loomed ominously for days began to thin and scatter, revealing the pale light of a dawning sky.
Seisyll sat cross-legged on the ground, his gaze fixed on his trembling hands. He muttered spells under his breath, trying to summon even the faintest spark of magic. Hours had passed since Arthur had awakened, and during that time, Seisyll had tested his limits, discovering just how much his sacrifice had cost him. The magma bear's beastcore pulsed faintly within his skull, a steady rhythm that felt both foreign and vital.
