The mountain did not try to stop them when they left.
No shifting walls.
No whispering voices.
No unseen pressure clawing at Elara's mind.
It was as if the place had taken what it needed… and released her.
Or perhaps—
It had accepted her.
Elara stepped out into the pale daylight beside Draven, the cold air biting against her skin—but it no longer felt oppressive.
It felt clear.
Sharp.
Real.
She inhaled deeply.
For the first time since everything began, her power didn't surge wildly in response.
It moved with her.
Like a second breath.
Draven watched her carefully.
"You feel it?"
She nodded.
"It's quieter."
A pause.
"But stronger."
His gaze narrowed slightly.
"Show me."
Elara didn't hesitate.
She lifted her hand.
Silver light gathered instantly—not in a violent burst, not in an uncontrollable wave—but in a smooth, steady glow that coiled around her fingers like liquid moonlight.
She clenched her fist.
The light obeyed.
Vanished.
No crack in the ground.
