The darkness underground was as viscous as ink, heavy with the moldy, damp-earth scent that threatened to swallow even the faintest gasp. This natural cavern, its floor carpeted with vast fungal mats, momentarily shielded them from the suffocating malice of the Blightwood—but it also felt like a living tomb, imprisoning three souls teetering on the brink of oblivion.
On the soft fungal carpet, Raine Morningstar lay as a dirge of the dying. He was no longer merely weakened—he truly hovered between life and death. The backlash from overtaxing his prophetic gift had detonated a cataclysm within, draining nearly every spark of his already tenuous starlight magic. Now his body lay alarmingly cold, yet under his skin pulsed a sickly flush of fever and chaotic energy. Cold sweat soaked through his tattered clothes, plastering them to his trembling, emaciated frame.
Most terrifying were the silent, creeping black veins. Like poisonous vines, they crept from his neck and wrists upward, carrying with them an aura of icy death and utter oblivion. These were the marks of shadowblight, ruthlessly invading his flesh in this moment of starlight's exhaustion and leaving his once‑vibrant youth to be swallowed by eternal darkness.
His breathing was so faint it might snuff out at any moment, each shallow rise of his chest accompanied by a strangled rasp. Eyes clenched tight, brow twisted in agony, even in his semi‑comatose state he could not escape that soul‑rending torment.
Karrion Ironforge knelt beside him, the battle‑hardened dwarf now writhed in anxiety and helplessness. His rough fingers searched Raine's neck again and again, finding only the faintest, flickering pulse—always on the verge of vanishing. He tried every dwarven remedy he knew: packing crushed anti‑evil moss on Raine's temples, dousing his forehead with strong spirits to jolt life back—yet all such mortal measures were powerless against the twin scourges of magical backlash and encroaching shadowblight.
"Blast it all!" Karrion cursed under his breath, hammering a fist into the soft fungal mat in frustration, its yielding resistance only deepening his defeat. He glanced toward the cavern's shadows at Thalia Night'song, who stood as still as a statue melded with darkness.
"Witch," Karrion's voice trembled only faintly, "surely you have some means—some arcane remedy?" His plea was not reproach but near‑desperate supplication. He knew Thalia's power was inscrutable; perhaps she truly held a hidden trick.
Thalia slowly lifted her head. Beneath her hood, her face was paler than Raine's, almost translucent. Her gaze settled on Raine, and in her deep eyes boiled a maelstrom of pain, resolve—and a flicker of profound fear.
Of course she had a way. The one way that might yet save him.
Her own heart—the star‑core fragment bound in her chest—contained pure celestial power, the very antithesis of shadowblight. If she channeled it now, she could stabilize Raine's erratic residual starlight and purge that fatal blackness from his flesh.
But the cost… the cost would be her life.
That star‑core fragment was her lifeline, the only bulwark against the corruption in her veins. To expend it now would hasten her own end—perhaps instantly snuffing out her flickering existence.
Yet if she did nothing…
All hope of finding Fallenstar would vanish. Without Raine's bloodline magic guiding them, without his dangerous but indispensable foresight, they would never traverse the Blightwood or reach the legendary floating city.
And she needed him, too—his rare blood could soothe the corrosion that plagued her. To see him die would mean her own torment without respite.
A cruel balance weighed before her: Raine's life, the faint glimmer of hope, her own momentary relief from suffering—against the last of her days.
Silence reigned, broken only by Raine's feeble breathing, Karrion's ragged gasps, and the mute scream in Thalia's heart. Time itself froze, each second carving deeper into her fragile resolve. At last, sorrow‑tinged calm replaced her turmoil. She made her choice.
"Karrion," she said softly yet with iron authority, "stand watch at the cavern entrance. I need absolute quiet for… an ancient healing rite. It may draw unwanted attention."
Karrion blinked, searching her hooded face for some clue, but he asked nothing further. He nodded curtly. "Understood. If anything goes awry, shout." He hefted his axe and strode off into the cavern's gloom.
Alone with comatose Raine, Thalia knelt beside him and inhaled deeply, steeling herself to do what must be done. She placed one pale hand on his chest, the other poised in a slender gesture of shadow energy. With a quick motion, she sliced her own wrist—no agony, only the quiet rip of silk.
From the wound flowed not ordinary red blood but a golden shimmer of pure star‑essence, each drop like a tiny captive sun, radiant with warmth and life's true power—the very lifeblood of her star‑core.
She guided those drops into Raine's parched lips, while her other hand pressed to his stagnating starlight residue over his heart. Eyes closed, heart pounding, she channeled that celestial energy as best she could.
First the golden blood crashed against the shadowblight within him, like noonday sun melting frost—veins of corruption recoiled, dissolving under the pure light. Then she coaxed the weakened starlight to realign, knitting shattered magical nodes back into harmony. Raine's furrowed brow relaxed, his tremors subsided.
The effort drained her swiftly. She felt her own star‑core's glow dimming, her life essence pouring out in that flow of gold. Her body grew icier with every heartbeat, her vision hazy, ears ringing. Yet she persevered, until at last Raines's black veins receded entirely and his breathing evened.
Collapsing beside him on the fungal mat, Thalia drew a ragged breath. She bandaged her wrist and let darkness claim her.
Time passed—no one knows how long—before Karrion crept back, boots silent on the fungus. He scanned the entrance, assured no threat waited, then crossed to his friends.
He almost dropped his axe in surprise at Raine's recovery: the black veins were gone, breathing stable, color returning to his face. Miraculous!
"By the beard of my forefathers…" Karrion stammered, kneeling to check Raine's pulse once more. It was faint but steady!
His triumph dissolved in shock when his eyes fell on Thalia. She lay curled at Raine's side, skeletal‑thin and breathing shallowly—or barely at all. Her face was a deathly gray, her lips cracked, her every breath sounding like the last.
"Thalia?" Karrion rose, panic flaring. "Witch, what's happened? You're sapped of life!" He knelt beside her and shook her gently.
She opened hollow eyes and managed a weak whisper, "I'm… fine… just the rite took everything."
"A rite?" Karrion pressed. "I searched outside—no herbs, no charms. What did you use?"
"A one‑time draught," she murmured, avoiding his gaze. "Rare… all gone now."
Karrion's brow tightened. No simple potion could revive a man from death's door—and leave her so near her own end. His gaze flicked to her bandaged wrist and the faint pulse of energy still lingering there—the same vital power that had driven back Raine's blight.
He said nothing, draping his cloak over her frail shoulders and stepping back. "Rest, then. I'll keep watch."
Seeds of doubt took root in his heart.
While Karrion tended the vigil, he explored the cavern's fringes, hoping to find something—anything—that might aid Thalia's recovery. He discovered the cavern extended deeper, lined with more passages blanketed by fungus.
In one side tunnel, his boot struck a hidden stone slab set into the wall. Clearing away the mold and moss, he revealed carved lines: a swirling star emblem surrounded by vine‑like runes. He recognized the mark—ancient star‑born glyphs from dwarven lore—yet here it seemed a trigger.
A hollow tone under his knock gave him hope. Pressing the runic pattern in a precise sequence, he heard a soft click as a narrow fissure slid open. A stairway of hewn stone descended into the unknown, dust faintly swirling in musty air.
A forgotten passage! Could this lead to refuge, or to the lost city of Fallenstar itself?
He re‑sealed the slab and marked its location, heart pounding with both hope and dread. Tonight, they would rest—but tomorrow, they must decide whether to venture that ancient path into deeper peril.
In the subterranean dark, Raine's even breathing and Thalia's feeble breaths mingled. A faint glimmer of hope had ignited—and with it, the seed of suspicion took root. Their journey, briefly paused, would soon plunge onward into ever darker shadows.