Every wound opened upon Azhura'k's gigantic body seemed to appear within Kyrian as well. The connection between them, established through the touch of the eye, transmitted every sensation, every fragment of suffering.
When one of the women pierced her wings with a golden spear... Kyrian collapsed to his knees within that dream. The pain was so intense that he could barely breathe, barely think.
Even though he was only a spectator. Even though he knew it had all happened long ago. He felt everything.
The pain. The fear. The despair. The loneliness.
Azhura'k continued fighting. For hours. Endless hours. Her golden blood rained upon the mountains, creating rivers of light that shimmered through the darkness. Her roars grew weaker and weaker, her energy more and more depleted.
Even so... she never gave up. Until the very end, until the final moment, she fought. Not for victory, but for freedom.
Until... the man raised a small object.
