*The Battlefield — Moments After the Lightstorm*

Smoke curled around the crater like mist.

Ryder still knelt at the center, shielding Crystal’s limp form with his body. His hands trembled where they gripped her shoulders.

She was warm, too warm like wildfire trapped in mortal skin.

“Crystal,” he murmured, brushing hair from her face. Her lashes fluttered, silver light still flickering.

Around them, the field was silent.

Not dead.

Not ...