"The Bloodvine," Leon said quietly, his heart skipping, the vision from the chapel flashing in his mind—pulsing fruit, Dreadwraith, Zara's altar.
"It's one of the three altars."
Zara's curse flared, the red glyphs on her thigh glowing like coals, spiraling up her hip beneath torn leathers.
She hissed, stumbling back against a tree, her leg trembling, the heat radiating from her skin palpable.
Leon moved instantly, catching her arm as she sagged, his pack sliding to the ground.
"Easy—just stay still," he said, his voice steady but tight.
He dropped to one knee, his hand sliding up her thigh, pressing his palm against the hottest pulse of the curse mark, the skin feverish, trembling.
A golden glow flickered weakly from his fingertips—less magic, more will, his wind bond with Terya struggling against Vyrneth's oppressive air.
Zara grunted, her eyes clenching shut, her breath heavy, her muscles tensing under his touch.
