Darkest Hour of Night (III)

Seraphina's gentle whispers seemed to pierce the thick veil of Raven's nightmare. His body, previously tense and trembling, began to relax under her touch.

She took out a spirit stone and set it aside, filling the room with its gentle brightness.

Then she continued to whisper soothing words, trying to ease him back from whatever abyss he had fallen into in his sleep. But even as his breathing started to slow, she could still feel the raw energy emanating from him—the darkness that clung to him like a second skin.

She couldn't shake the image of the dead woman in his arms. His wife. A pang of something unnameable twisted in her chest, but she pushed it aside. Now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. She focused on the man before her, desperate to bring him peace.

"Raven," she called softly, leaning closer so that her breath brushed against his ear. "Raven, wake up."