Xarvenya had gone pale enough that the color seemed to have drained from even her lips, one hand resting over her stomach despite the fact there was still nothing there for anyone else to see.
Her fingers moved once against the fabric before becoming still, and she stared toward the heavens as though looking away for even an instant might make the sight before her real in a way she could no longer deny.
There was almost nothing left of Sylas. Half of his skull remained beneath patches of fractured emerald, while pieces of black ribs, spine, and splintered limbs floated beneath it without enough structure between them to resemble a body; even the crystalline Phoenix wings that had dragged him back from destruction again and again had been reduced to a few dim fragments of light.
