In the dream, the "Third Light" wrapped around Craig's hand and Luviyah's hand, lacing them together. The weight that had been crushing Craig—the guilt of Zarathorak, the terror of the Void Dragons—didn't vanish, but it became ordered. The child's resonance acted as a tether, pulling Craig out of the mud of the South and dragging him back through the veil.
With a final, silent gasp, Craig's body in the real world went limp.
He didn't fall; the dragons caught him before he could hit the marble. The obsidian-gold veins on his skin receded, leaving him pale and exhausted. His breathing, once a rhythmic roar, settled into a deep, steady, and quiet slumber.
He was no longer a "monstrosity." He was just a boy, resting in the arms of the family he had nearly unmade.
Luviyah slumped against Ingi, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her stomach glowed with a faint, lingering iridescence—the stolen power of the Vessel now safely housed within the next generation.
