The retreat was a blur of shadows and pain. Dylan pulled a nearly unconscious Elisa along, his own body just a collection of aching muscles and raw nerves. Alka's cries and the roar of the energy gradually faded, replaced by the ragged gasp of their lungs and the rustle of tall grass.
They covered a distance that felt like an eternity, until Dylan, feeling his legs give way, made them collapse behind a rocky outcrop marking the edge of the Karthak plain. They fell side by side, panting, empty stares fixed on the starry vault, now visible between the clouds torn apart by the storm they had fled.
In the distance, the violet light still pulsed, sinister and threatening, but no silhouettes emerged in pursuit.
"She... isn't coming," Elisa managed to articulate, the phrase interrupted by fits of coughing.
Dylan turned his head, his profile hardened by frustration and fatigue. "She doesn't need to. She's marked us. She knows she won this round."
