Caspian's body crumpled against the cracked stone floor as the last of the pain ebbed from his limbs.
His breaths came in gasps, chest heaving, muscles twitching as the oppressive mana that had bound and burned him for what felt like an eternity finally lifted. The chains of shadow that coiled around his body evaporated in a hiss of smoke, leaving behind welts and smoldering cuts that glowed faintly with the residue of demonic magic.
But he didn't move. Not yet, because couldn't.
Instead, wincing, he turned his head—slowly, carefully—toward the source of the strange new mana that had torn through the cavern like a silent command. It wasn't overwhelming like Yami's chaos, nor was it radiant like the divine magic the Royal bloodline carried. No. This… this was still. Innocent yet eerie.
There, standing in the haze of settling ash and ruptured air, was the boy. His delicate hand was clutching Yami's wrist.
