The quiet was heavy.
It wasn't the peaceful kind, but the kind that pressed against the eardrums until even the sound of breath felt too loud. Mist hung in pale ribbons over the water, and the air smelled faintly of rain and metal. Beneath the surface, the Wellspring murmured. Soft ripples that were almost voices with the cadence of distant prayers.
Jaime staggered to the edge of the Wellspring, his boots slipping on slick stone and moss. The spring's light cast a ghostly shimmer over him, revealing the shape of the woman in his arms.
Elena hung limply against his chest, head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. Her skin was clammy, pale as worn parchment. Each breath seemed to pull her further away, and faint violet sparks flickered along her scars, like residual fire in the water itself, responding to her pain.
His own condition wasn't much better. The arm that had anchored her through the divine storm that carried them was blackened with spiraling lightning scars, edges curling like burned paper, just like Elena's when she first earned hers. Every heartbeat felt stolen, yet the Wellspring hummed faintly under his skin, pressing against his veins like it knew he could not yet leave.
Jaime sank into the Wellspring, gasping as the cold closed around them. The water should have dragged them down, but it didn't- it held, as if cupping them in invisible hands. A faint chorus rose beneath the surface, whispering in syllables that tickled the edge of memory: fragments of commands, blessings, and warnings all at once. Sigils shimmered, dissolving and reforming under the water like living ink, writhing in rhythm with Elena's shallow breaths.
He kept her head above the surface, leaning his back against the stone edge. His throat was raw from whispering prayers to Coatriskie, to Guabancex, to his ancestors, to anyone who would listen.
"Elena…" His voice was hoarse, barely more than breath. "We made it. You did it. Just hold on."
Her eyes fluttered open, clouded but searching, and found his face. For a moment, the murmuring of the Wellspring seemed to harmonize with her pulse, whispering encouragement through the rippling currents. His grip tightened until his hands shook. She smiled softly, whispering, "so good to me…" before slipping into darkness.
Light gathered faintly over his ruined arm- the spring's touch, brushing against the blackened lightning scars. The water responded to the energy of their shared life force, swirling faintly around them in eddies of blue and violet, but it wasn't enough. He could feel himself fraying. The edges of the world dimmed, yet he refused to loosen his hold.
A sound cut through the silence. Boots on stone. Steady, closing in.
Jaime's pulse surged. He turned his head toward the cave mouth, his body curling instinctively around Elena.
From the shadows, Niegal stepped into view.
The silver in his eyes caught the light, widening in shock. His skin looked less ravaged than before. Patches of corruption healed, edges smoothed as if someone had tended to him. Faint hums in the Wellspring intensified, brushing against Jaime's consciousness like a warning: power approaching, but uncertain whether friend or foe.
Jaime's relief curdled instantly into something sharper. Wrath. Dread. Mistrust.
Niegal's gaze snapped to Elena, and he waded forward, water splashing around him. "Elena!" His voice cracked, raw with urgency.
Jaime didn't move. Didn't trust him. His arms locked tighter around her, as if protection alone could anchor her to life.
Niegal jumped into in the water. His hands hovered just above Elena's body, emerald light gathering, curling like serpents in the Wellspring's glow. "Let me- "
Jaime hesitated. The thought of letting go felt like betrayal. But Niegal's magic could heal her.
A beat. Then another.
Finally, his grip loosened. Niegal moved in, pressing one hand to her heart and the other to her temple. Magic spilled into her in green waves, weaving with the spring's murmurs as if the water itself guided the flow.
The moment Jaime released her, the strength holding him upright vanished. The Wellspring tilted around him, and his body folded into the water. Cold rushed over him, carrying whispers that sounded almost like the voice of Guabancex herself, warning, pleading, demanding.
His last sight before darkness closed in was Niegal bent over Elena, desperation etched into every line of his face.
Then- shock.
A hand gripped his shoulder. Heat poured into him.
Niegal was healing him, too.
Ripples spread outward from their bodies, glowing faintly with divine energy. The murmuring of the Wellspring rose into a chorus of undulating voices, as if the water itself was witnessing, judging, and blessing their fragile survival.
For Jaime, the chorus faded into nothing.
And the dark took him.