The storm had passed overnight, leaving the thick, salty air heavy with dampness. Wind rustled through the palm-like fronds, and the ocean whispered beyond the treeline, as though holding its breath.
The cave was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire and the soft breaths of the sleeping child curled in the crook of Yara's arm. Rian lay on a bed of moss and cloth beside them, his breathing still shallow but less ragged than before. Yara's hand glowed faintly as she hovered it above his chest, her healing magic delicate, coaxing balance rather than forcing it.
"His pulse is steadier," she murmured, wiping sweat from her brow. "But he's not out of danger."
She'd done this three times now. He needed more. He needed someone else. But for now… this would have to be enough.
"Just hang on," she whispered.
A soft coo interrupted her.
