Marla had returned to her arcane roots—not to seek power, but to unmake Umbrael's corrupt anchors in the earth.
She crafted a forbidden spell, one that tore apart dark sigils at their source. But each time she cast it, it took a piece of her energy, her soul. She grew paler, slower—but fiercer.
Lucky found her half-collapsed beneath a twisted obsidian arch.
"You're giving too much," she whispered, helping Marla stand.
Marla's lips cracked in a tired grin. "You did. Why shouldn't I?"
Lucky embraced her. "Because I want you after the war."
Marla held on longer than she needed to.