Cleenah's remaining strength was gone.
Not fading. Not weakening. Simply gone. As if someone had reached inside her body and ripped out every ounce of divine power in a single breath.
Her holy blade, moments ago blazing with golden fury, now carried nothing. Just dead metal kissing Jax's sword with the weight of an empty threat.
Because the projection hadn't stopped.
The scene had shifted. The village street was gone. Now the perspective of the tiny child was bouncing through a forest. Being carried in the arms of a man whose stride was long and steady.
Cleenah recognized the arms before the face came into view.
Then the child's perspective tilted upward. Looking at the man carrying her with the trust only a child could possess.
Cleenah's tears came before she could stop them.
It was her father. Ren. Younger than she had ever seen him in her own memories. Stronger. Healthier. Alive in a way that made the grief she had buried for years claw its way back to the surface.
