The first rays of dawn crept across the battlefield, gilding the dunes in soft, golden light and revealing the scars of the Voidfiends' relentless onslaught. Deep gouges etched jagged paths through the sand, fractured weapons lay half-buried, and skeletal remains jutted up like grotesque monuments to chaos.
The muted hum of survivors filled the air, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of battle. Voices rose in hurried urgency as the wounded were ferried toward makeshift medical tents.
The Voidfiends were gone. Their retreat had been abrupt, leaving behind a suffocating silence that hung heavily over the battlefield. Solena knelt in its midst, her trembling hands pressed into the cool sand. Every breath was a struggle against the ache that pulsed through her body. Her magic had fled, leaving her hollow and drained, as lifeless as the scorched earth beneath her.
Nearby, the necromancer lay bound and barely conscious, his shallow breaths rattling in the still morning air. Rakthor approached, his heavy footsteps crunching against the sand. Draped across his arms were the necromancer's cloak and staff, their once-formidable presence now eerily diminished.
He knelt beside her, holding the items out. "You'll want to see these," he said, his voice low but steady.
Solena accepted them, her fingers brushing against the staff's cold surface. A frown tugged at her lips as she turned it over in her hands. The immense hum of energy she had felt before was gone, leaving behind only a hollow, lifeless core. "They're empty," she murmured, her voice tight with unease. "Completely drained."
Rakthor straightened, folding his arms as he studied her reaction. "Whatever power they held, the Voidfiends devoured it before retreating."
Solena's gaze settled on the distant mountains, and a chill coursed through her as recognition dawned—they were the Lost Peaks. The image of the Voidfiends lingered in her mind, frozen in their sudden stillness before surging toward those jagged heights with an eerie, unified purpose. She thought she had felt it then, a faint pulse of energy rippling through the air, fleeting but undeniable.
"Something's calling to them," Rakthor had said during the battle, his voice heavy with unease. The weight of his words lingered in the air, a tangible tension that settled over her like a shroud. Whatever awaited in the mountains, it was far from over.
Jam padded silently to her side, his golden eyes scanning the desolation. He let out a low growl, deliberate and sharp. Solena reached out, her fingers brushing through his sleek fur. His presence grounded her, a quiet reminder that not all was lost. If Jam could remain composed amid the disarray, so could she.
Her determination faltered as her body refused to obey, weighed down by the crushing grip of exhaustion. The world around her blurred into a haze of muted sounds and flickering movement that pressed heavily against her senses. Then, somewhere nearby, a wounded cry broke the fragile stillness of the morning, sharp and raw.
The sound drew Solena's attention to a young warrior lying a few paces away. Her short, matted hair was damp with sweat, and blood pooled beneath her torn armor. Each shallow breath came as a desperate gasp, her life slipping away with every passing moment.
"She's not going to make it," someone muttered, the words sharp and final. They cut through Solena's haze, drawing her focus back to the present.
Above, the sky shifted steadily, indigo melting into soft hues of gold and rose. Warmth brushed against her skin, the first touch of sunlight urging her to rise. To act.
A memory surfaced, unbidden but vivid, as Tannis's calm, steady voice echoed in her mind. "Focus, Solena. Sunlight magic flows through intent—it responds to action and purpose, even in weakness. Stand firm, and the light will heed you."
The wounded woman let out a faint whimper, her breaths shallow and faltering. Solena's gaze lingered on her for a moment before she forced her heavy limbs to move. Each step felt like wading through sand, but she pushed forward, closing the short distance between them.
She fell to a kneeling position at the woman's side, arranging herself carefully, her hands hovering above the bloodied form as they trembled with hesitation. Doubt tightened around her chest like a vice.
The memory of silver tendrils wrapping around Meila's lifeless form rose unbidden, chilling her more than the dawn's breeze ever could. She clenched her fists, forcing herself to shake off the thoughts. This was not the time to dwell on the past—not when someone's life still hung in the balance.
Taking a steadying breath, Solena drew in the revitalizing sunlight as it brushed against her exposed skin. A long-lost warmth stirred in her chest, blooming with a steady, reassuring glow that spread through her limbs like a gentle tide. No more hesitation. No more doubt.
Her focus sharpened, the world narrowing to the injured warrior before her. The cries and murmurs of the battlefield faded into the background, leaving only the fragile spark of life slipping away beneath her hands.
Golden energy burst from her palms, radiant and alive. It wove into the warrior's broken body, chasing the chill of death and weaving warmth into flesh and bone.
The energy surged with purpose, a steady rhythm matching the rise and fall of Solena's breaths. She felt the fragile thread of life beneath her hands flicker, faint but stubbornly present, and she poured her focus into nurturing it.
Solena's chest tightened as the magic flowed, tears spilling unbidden. She hadn't realized how deeply she had feared the sunlight's rejection until now.
The woman's body shuddered beneath her hands, her breaths deepening into something steady. A faint flush returned to her pale cheeks, fragile yet undeniable.
Jam's tail flicked against her leg as he stepped closer, brushing his head against her arm. Solena met his steady gaze, his golden eyes a silent affirmation that she had done enough.
Rakthor approached her as the last of the light dimmed from around her hands. His expression was unusually soft as he knelt beside her. "Dual-Blessed," he murmured, his voice steady yet filled with weight. "You acted without hesitation, and because of that, she lives. It's good to see you finally embracing all that you are."
Solena blinked at him. "Embracing?" she asked quietly, her voice tinged with confusion.
"You've resisted the truth of your nature," he said. "But the light and shadow within you are not separate. Together, they make you whole. Only by accepting both can you carry the burdens you're meant to bear."
She lowered her gaze, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. "It's not enough," she whispered. "Not yet."
Rakthor's voice softened, his usual gruffness giving way to a rare note of sincerity. "Solena, I spoke out of turn before. Even in the chaos of battle, my words were unjust. You didn't deserve them, and for that, I owe you an apology."
Solena looked up, startled by his words. The raw honesty in his voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, the weight of her self-doubt eased. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice steadier now, though emotion tightened her throat.
Solena let her gaze drift upward. The horizon burned softly with the colors of dawn, streaks of gold and rose bleeding into the receding indigo. The sunlight touched her skin, warm and gentle.
Balance. The word whispered through her mind like a promise. The light had answered her today, steady and radiant, but it wasn't the only force that had carried her this far. Shadow had saved her before, too—dangerous and unfamiliar, yet undeniable in its demands.
Both were part of her now, inseparable and essential. The sun's rise was no more complete without the night that preceded it. She had fought for so long to separate herself from the shadows within her, to deny what frightened or hurt her. But now she saw the truth: light and shadow didn't oppose each other. They defined each other. They made her whole.
Her chest tightened as the realization settled, heavy but steady, like a burden she was finally ready to carry.
She glanced at the injured scattered nearby, each one a reminder of how much more there was to do.
"Are there any others in critical condition?" Solena asked, her voice strained but steady. Her gaze swept over the wounded, lingering on each form as she steadied herself with a breath. "If not, I must rest and store as much of the sun's energy as I can," she admitted, her tone soft but firm. "If I push too hard…" She trailed off, the weight of her limits hanging in the air.
Rakthor nodded, his expression understanding. "Even the strongest flames burn out if they're not tended. Do what you must, Solena. We are grateful for your help. Quick recoveries are not something we're accustomed to. None of the others are mortally wounded. They will patiently await any aid you can lend."
She nodded faintly, her fingers curling into the cool grains of sand as though anchoring herself. The weight of the battlefield pressed down on her, a stark reminder of all that had been lost—and all that still needed mending.
Her gaze drifted over the scattered wounded, but another face loomed in her mind, sharp and unyielding. Meila. The memory of her friend's lifeless form returned, vivid and haunting. Meila's resurrection stood as proof of the power Solena wielded—and the weight of the choices she had made.
One day, she would find Meila again. The thought struck her with unexpected clarity, bittersweet and sharp. She had believed the Eldari and their Healers were part of her past, a chapter closed and left behind. But now, the realization settled in her chest like a quiet ache—they were not done with her, nor she with them.
She owed Meila an apology, not just for what she had done, but for the choice she had made without her consent. The weight of it pressed against her, heavy and inescapable. Forgiveness might never come, but she would ask. It was a burden she had to carry.
To meet Meila again, Solena would need to embrace the balance she had spent so long resisting. Light and shadow weren't just tools for her magic—they were the foundation of who she was becoming, a truth she could no longer deny.
The thought was daunting, but a spark of determination stirred within her, steady and unyielding. It carried with it a quiet resolve, tinged with hope and the faintest trace of fear.
She owed Meila that much.