The storm howled as Lyara drove her staff into the frozen earth. The runes along its length flickered, pulling the last of her strength into the sigil beneath her feet. The ice dragon lunged, its breath a torrent of frost, but the circle of magic erupted, a spiraling wall of gold flames swallowing the beast’s attack.
Beyond the cliffs, the Heartspire pulsed, its crystal peak sending waves of dark energy across the valley. If she failed, the kingdom would fall. Gritting her teeth, Lyara raised the Shard of Eldwyn. The enchanted gem flared as she chanted, calling upon the last embers of the old gods.
The dragon roared again, but this time, its form twisted, the magic binding it cracking like glass. With a final cry, it shattered into the wind. Lyara dropped to her knees, the Heartspire dimming as its corruption faded. She had won, but as the last rune vanished from her staff, she knew—her magic was gone forever.
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