The silver-streaked sky shuddered as Anira raised her staff, the runes along its length pulsing with borrowed starlight. Across the battlefield, the Shadow Crown’s wraith-knights closed in, their blades dripping with curses. The Gate of Eldren, a towering arch of living stone, crackled with contained power—if the enemy seized it, the world would drown in eternal dusk.
Anira thrust her staff into the ground, weaving a barrier of golden fire. The first knight crashed against it, its spectral form screaming as it disintegrated. But the rest advanced. Her strength wavered. She reached deeper, calling on the ley-lines themselves. They answered.
Roots burst from the earth, wrapping around the wraiths, dragging them into the hungry soil. With a final push, Anira flung her energy into the Gate, sealing it with celestial flame. The battlefield fell silent. She dropped to her knees, victorious—but the stars above flickered, their light dimmed. The cost, she realized, was yet to be counted.
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