The silver branches of the Moonthorn Tree trembled as Leria pressed her bloody palm against the bark. The roots pulsed with answering magic, the air thick with the scent of crushed violets. Behind her, the dark tide of the Shadow Host advanced, their obsidian blades whispering hunger.
She pulled at the Moonthorn’s power, and the ground split open. Radiant roots surged forth, striking into the enemy ranks. Shadow-creatures shrieked as light devoured them, but more came. Too many.
Leria turned toward the towering fortress beyond the battlefield—the last stronghold of the Lightbearers. If she fell, so would they. With a breath, she drove both hands into the trunk, offering more than blood. Energy tore through her, burning her veins like liquid fire. The tree shuddered, then exploded in a wave of divine brilliance.
When the light faded, only ashes remained where the horde had stood. Leria collapsed, drained but victorious. The Moonthorn had answered. The war, for now, was won.
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