"I GOT IT!!!"
The sound that ripped from Cecilia's throat was less a cry of triumph and more the visceral, guttural roar of a gambler who had just bankrupted the house on a single, desperate roll of the dice.
She skidded to her knees on the ashen ground, a move that would have shredded her robes if they weren't already sponsored by the apocalypse.
With the reverence of a priestess and the frantic energy of a back-alley dealer, she plunged her hand into the glowing, intangible slot machine that was her chest and pulled out her winnings. A single, shimmering vial of liquid hope.
"Arkai Dawnoro, open your mouth! Quick!" she demanded, brandishing the elixir like a holy hand grenade.
Arkai, the great Black Wolf King who had just minutes ago been composing his own epic ballad of a death could only blink. His massive, dying wolf head swiveled slowly, a movement that cost him what felt like a pint of blood, to look at Oathran.
