The journey through the Cloud Marsh was a relentless, sucking grind. For every few feet they gained, Erowen's effort to maintain the Soul Barrier became visibly more taxing. The Heartwood Spirit was fighting the sheer weight of the Fifth Realm spell, but the battle was being lost.
Erowen's breathing became shallow and ragged. Sweat beaded on her brow and plastered strands of silver hair to her temples, making her face appear strained and slick in the dim, swirling fog.
Her jaw was clenched, and her expression was visibly contorted into a mask of intense concentration and sheer pain.
"Try to somehow hold, Princess," Harlon urged, his voice grave and low, audible only inches from her ear within the shimmering sphere.
He kept one hand firmly on her shoulder, anchoring her. "We cannot stop here. Not even for a moment. Or else it will all be for naught."
