>>Enya
Her eyes fluttered, only slightly. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but no sound came. Only a choked, wet gasp.
Then I saw the wound.
It wasn't just a gash—it was a hole, torn open viciously from her side, as though something had hooked its claws into her and ripped straight through. Deep enough that her organs had spilled with the blood, staining the ground beneath her crimson. My stomach turned. Einar staggered a step back, paling.
"She's not—she's not going to—" I couldn't say it.
"We need to get her inside," Einar said, already trying to lift her, his voice raw and shaking. "We have to try—"
"There's nothing left to save," I said, tears streaming down my face as I pressed my hand to the wound, as if I could keep her soul from slipping through it. Her blood was already cooling in the wind.
Rika's hand twitched in mine. Her eyes barely met mine for a second—there was no light left in them. No flame. And then her fingers went still.
I froze.
"No, no—Rika—!"
