Five days. That's how long it had been. Five days of damp stone, flickering firelight, and the constant thrum of the obsidian ring on her thumb. Five days since she'd stared down Ryven, since she'd claimed a power she still barely understood.
The fire-sister, Sister Lyra, had been a quiet presence. She moved with the grace of shadow, her ancient prayers a constant hum. She'd tended to Caldan with a focus Arin envied, mixing salves from strange herbs brought from deeper caves. Caldan still breathed, shallow and ragged, but he breathed. That was all that mattered.
