Cyrus’s head wound was deep. I gathered my magic in my palm and hovered it over his head. The skin slowly stitched itself back together. He looked slightly better; at least he was still breathing.
When I looked up, I felt a tug on the bond. Sahora. She walked toward us slowly. I could feel the pain in her body, sore, shaken, but still standing.
Is it you or Kathera right now? I sent it to her through the bond.
Me, she answered. Is Cyrus okay?
He will be. We need to watch for fever.
Out loud, I said, “Cyrus, you can’t sleep for the next few hours. We need to make sure you’re stable.”
Cyrus tried to nod, but he didn’t seem fully coherent.
Briar and Castor walked over, Castor’s eyes locked on Sahora. “Who are you right now? My daughter?”
“No,” Sahora said. “I’m Sahora.”
She sagged slightly. Through the bond, it hit me like a lead weight, exhaustion so deep it felt borrowed from the world itself. Her stormhound near her knees as if ready to break a fall that hadn’t come.
“Okay,” Castor said, not softening. “Did Kathera come forward?”
My stomach tightened. Couldn’t he see what it cost her to answer that, what it cost her just to stay upright?
I stood and reached for her. She hesitated, leaning away a fraction like she wasn’t sure she was allowed comfort, then finally let me.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why did she release the attacker?” Castor pressed.
Sahora’s voice was paper-thin. “She said it was mercy… that will serve us.”
She swayed again, too tired to keep pretending she wasn’t.
“Mercy?” Castor demanded. “What does she mean?”
Heat flashed behind my ribs. Why did he insist on pushing when she was barely standing?
“Castor.” I kept my voice steady, though the bond hummed with Sahora’s exhaustion like a warning. “In the span of the last few hours, Sahora has come back from the dead.”
I pointed my chin toward her, pale, swaying. “She was told she carries a Worldname. And she’s had her body taken over twice by Kathera.”
I stepped between them without thinking. “Can we allow her to rest for the night and continue this tomorrow?”
“We may not have time in the morning; more of them will be coming after us.” Castor started pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I understand, but she needs rest, we all do. Just allow us the night.” I held firm.
Briar stepped over to Castor and grabbed his hand. Forcing him to look at her, after a moment he nods, “Very well, we will rest. Rest isn’t delay, but survival.”