The air was thick with tension as the shadows, still writhing around the heart of the anchor, pressed ever closer. Solstice could feel the pulse of the crystal through his fingertips, its energy growing stronger, yet still not enough to hold back the relentless forces of the Void. But his gaze kept flicking to the Watcher, her hands trembling as she held the darkness at bay.
"Watcher," he called, his voice cutting through the chaos, "how much longer can you keep this up?"
She didn't answer immediately, her eyes focused on the pattern she was weaving in the air. The tendrils of darkness recoiled with each intricate movement, but they were persistent, pushing against her magic with a ferocity that made Solstice uneasy.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "As long as I can. But the longer we delay, the more the anchor weakens."
Her words were heavy with a truth Solstice didn't want to face. He could see the strain in her movements now, the subtle tremor in her hands as she fought to keep the rift from consuming them both. He had never seen her so vulnerable, and the realization hit him like a wave.
"You're not… invincible," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
She looked at him then, her gaze sharp and intense. For a moment, he thought she might brush him off, but instead, her eyes softened, just for a fleeting instant.
"No one is," she said quietly, her voice carrying an unspoken weight. "Not even me."
As the shadows grew closer, the Watcher's magic faltered just for a moment, and the darkness surged forward. Solstice's heart raced, but before he could react, she raised her hands again, her will pushing the shadows back with an almost tangible force.
"Get to the heart!" she commanded. "I'll hold them back."
But something in her tone—something soft and almost hesitant—made Solstice pause. He stepped closer, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword.
"You're not just some guardian of the anchor, are you?" he asked, his voice low. "What's your real name?"
For a moment, the Watcher faltered, her eyes flickering to the side. She was silent, and the darkness pressed in from all sides, eager to devour them. But instead of responding immediately, she took a step back, allowing Solstice to move closer to the heart of the anchor.
"I am the Watcher," she said at last, her voice carrying a strange finality. "But that is not all I am."
Solstice turned to her, his curiosity piqued. There was something hidden in her words, a deeper truth that she had yet to reveal.
"Then what else are you?" he asked, taking another step toward her, his gaze searching her face.
She didn't look at him this time. Instead, she stared at the swirling darkness, her eyes distant as though lost in a memory. For a brief moment, she seemed far older than he had first imagined, as if she carried the weight of countless ages in her soul.
"Once, I was something else," she murmured, almost to herself. "But that was a long time ago."
The wind howled, and the shadows threatened to engulf them both, but Solstice didn't move. He could feel the weight of her words, the sorrow that lingered in her voice.
"Tell me," he urged, his voice soft but insistent. "You don't have to fight this alone."
The Watcher's eyes flicked to him then, her expression unreadable, before she gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. "I've always fought alone."
Her words were a wall, impenetrable, yet there was something in her tone—something fragile—that made Solstice wonder if she had ever truly been alone, or if she had simply chosen to be.
"I know what it's like," he said after a pause, his voice quieter. "To carry everything on your own."
The Watcher's gaze softened for a fraction of a moment, but then she straightened, the hardness returning to her features.
"You don't understand," she replied, her voice filled with an edge of sadness. "This… is my burden to bear."
Solstice didn't push further. He knew there was a story there, a deep well of pain and history, but now wasn't the time to unearth it. The rift above them began to tremble again, and the shadows surged forward with renewed strength.
"Then let me help you bear it," Solstice said, his voice firm, yet gentle. "We'll face this together."
She didn't respond, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, a fleeting glance that held unspoken words.
The heart of the anchor pulsed again, and Solstice could feel the pressure building in the air. They were running out of time.
Without another word, the Watcher raised her hands once more, and the darkness recoiled before her magic. Solstice, understanding the urgency, reached out toward the heart, his fingers brushing the crystal's surface. As his hand made contact, the crystal thrummed with energy, its light blinding and intense.
The Watcher's eyes locked onto his, her gaze piercing.
"Do it now," she urged. "Before it's too late."
With a final, steadying breath, Solstice activated the heart.