The weight of lift

The world felt heavy.

Kiara drifted in and out of consciousness, caught between waking and a strange, floating nothingness. She was vaguely aware of voices—low murmurs, concerned whispers—but they came and went like echoes in a vast chamber. Her body ached, though not in the way she was used to after battle. This was different. It wasn't bruises or cuts or the sharp sting of a wound. It was as if something had been drained from her, leaving only a fragile shell behind.

Her fingers twitched.

"…Kiara?"

A voice. Steady, familiar. She felt warmth against her hand—strong, calloused. She knew that touch. She struggled to follow it, to lift herself out of the fog pressing down on her.

Then, with effort, she forced her eyes open.