I looked around helplessly, not quite sure what to do with the sobbing girl in my arms. The remnants of the Firestorm curled around us, concealing us from the rest, but we were still in a fight, right?
Awkwardly, I ran my fingers through the girl's disheveled hair, mirroring the gesture Soltair had once used to comfort me. "It's going to be alright," I whispered, my voice barely audible over her sobs.
She continued sobbing, and I winced as her hand dug into my shoulder, gripping the flesh on the outskirts of the Sunpurge. I glanced up as a familiar figure cast its shadow over us. Fyren stood nearby, his sword nonchalantly resting on his shoulder.
"What happened?"
I shook my head, still uncertain. "I'm not sure. She just started screaming and collapsed right after the fire struck, but there don't seem to be any visible injuries." My gaze swept across the battlefield. "Where did the others go?"
