With a sharp tug and a flare of silver light from Elara’s palms, the arrow was gone. But the arrowhurt remained—a hollow, thrumming void where his strength used to be. For a moment, Kaelen felt himself slipping away, ready to let the cold take him.
"I know. The shadows are heavy," Elara agreed, her fingers finally brushing the feathered fletching. "But you are lighter than the dark. On three, I’m going to pull the physical steel. The spiritual hurt... that’s yours to push out." arrowhurt
Then he remembered the sun on the high ridges and the smell of roasting bread in his village. He pushed back. He didn't use a sword or a spell; he used the simple, stubborn memory of warmth. The black veins receded. The gray haze cleared. With a sharp tug and a flare of
"Told you," Elara said with a grim smile, handing him his bow. "Now get up. We still have a long way to run." "I know