Morwenna staggered back into the world of the living, her consciousness returning in nauseating waves of pain and disorientation.
She had been unconscious for what felt like an eternity, her last memory a kaleidoscopic blur of magical feedback and the bone-jarring impact of a spell that had sent her spiraling into darkness.
Now, she was being half carried upright by two Nightwing elite soldiers, their armored arms providing the only thing keeping her from collapsing into the gore-slicked stone.
Gasp. Pant. Wheeze.
Her breathing was shallow, each inhale sending a spike of agony through her lungs. Her eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, surveyed the carnage.
She saw the twisted metal, the severed limbs, and the smoking craters where divine power had struck, but she saw something else too.
Beneath the surface-level horror that mirrored every other face in the corridor, there was something darker festering in her expression. A private, corrosive knowledge.
