Sylvanna's jaw tightened. Her gaze flicked to the lantern bearers her people had just saved, then back to the colossal nightmare assembling its joints like a living siege engine. "If it locks onto you alone?" she asked, voice rough, almost pleading though she kept it soft.
"Then he would give it nothing."
The crimson sash fluttered from Draven's fingers, twisting once like a spent ember before coming to rest upon the ruined moss. A hush fell over the clearing, as though even the corrupted breaths of the grove wished to witness the moment he relinquished his mark. Sylvanna felt it first: the sudden thinning of presence around him, as if the space he occupied had been scooped hollow. Raëdrithar's wings lost their crackle of static and settled into a wary hover.
