The faint hum of magic lingered in the air, a residue of the ritual that had severed Elara's connection to the heart. The chamber was eerily silent, save for the shallow breaths of the companions who encircled Elara's motionless form. The once-pulsating heart now lay dormant, its radiant glow replaced by a cold, faint shimmer that felt more like an empty promise than a beacon of hope.
"Elara, wake up," Morgana whispered, cradling her friend's head gently. Her voice cracked, the weight of desperation breaking through her usual composure. "You promised you'd stay with us."
Thorne knelt beside her, his normally stoic demeanor crumbling as he stared at Elara's pale face. "She's breathing," he murmured, his tone edged with both relief and fear. "But barely."
Alaric stood at the edge of the room, his gaze fixed on the now-dormant heart. "It worked," he said, his voice hollow. "The darkness is gone. She did it."
