However, at that moment, a robed man standing behind began to chant, raising his staff to the sky. It glowed with a beautiful, radiant light. Those who were still injured but not yet dead on the ground, including the man with the hammer, were bathed in a white holy light. Dylan and Timothy watched in surprise as the fallen men's injuries began to heal, their bodies rejuvenated by the divine glow.
The cleric's voice rang out, clear and resonant, his words a poetic call to the Goddess of Fate:
"O Fate, who weaves the threads of life,
In this dark hour, end our strife.
With holy light, let wounds be mended,
By your grace, let life be extended.
Grant your healing, pure and bright,
Restore our strength, renew our might.
In your hands, our destinies lie,
Guide us now, we do not defy."
