Twenty-Five

The battle against Althea had come to its fever pitch, the air thick with enchantment and the tension of approaching triumph or fate filled the atmosphere. Clara felt the Heart's energy thrumming through her, more effective than ever, a directing light against the whirling darkness. They had gained ground, but Clara knew they were not yet safe.

As the shadows drawn back from the Heart's light, Althea stunned, confronting a cover of seethe and edginess. She raised her hands, summoning each ounce of dim enchantment she had cleared out, her eyes burning with a deranged intensity. The ground trembled, the air vibrating with her wrath.

“I will not be defeated by mere children!” Althea screamed, her voice echoing across the clearing. Her hands glowed with a sickly green light, and she launched a final, devastating attack aimed straight at the altar.

Clara felt the Heart respond, its energy a protective shield against the assault. But the strain was immense, and she could feel the Heart beg