The Weight of Vision

Azlin's body lay still, breath shallow, face pale as bone. His hand twitched once, then again—barely perceptible. Nagara dropped to his knees beside him, panic flickering behind his eyes.

"Azlin…?"

There was no response. Only that slow, fading rise and fall of his chest. As if something inside him was being drawn out, pulled into a void they could not see.

Then Rania stepped forward.

Her hands trembled, but her eyes did not. Golden and steady, like twin suns rising through smoke. She lowered herself beside Azlin, brushing aside the strands of green hair plastered to his clammy forehead.

"Move," she said quietly.

Nagara shifted without question, his breath caught in his throat.

Rania pressed her fingers gently to Azlin's sternum. A shimmer of light—soft, barely visible at first—began to bloom from her touch. It wasn't fire. It wasn't divine radiance. It was something older. A warmth that moved through shadow like dawn through frost.

The light curled around Azlin's chest, spreading in slow pulses. Nagara stared, stunned, as the glow sank deeper into Azlin's body—through him, into the unseen places where the void had gripped him.

Rania's brows were furrowed, sweat beginning to bead at her temple. The light was not effortless. It came at a cost.

Then, a pulse.

Azlin's back arched with a shuddered gasp. His eyes snapped open—but not wild, not screaming. Silent. Empty. Searching.

He blinked, once. Twice.

And then… stillness.

Nagara leaned in, but Azlin said nothing. His gaze drifted upward, to the fractured ceiling, as if trying to piece together the fragments of whatever storm had consumed him.

He was awake—but distant. A boy pulled back from the brink of something vast and unknowable, unsure if he'd truly returned.

Rania pulled her hand away, her fingers trembling. The light faded.

Nagara turned to her slowly, his voice barely more than a breath. "You healed him…"

A long silence settled between them.

Nagara looked at her—truly looked—for perhaps the first time without the lens of mischief or suspicion. There was something radiant in her now, something ancient. Not just grace, not just control. Power. The kind that did not belong to a mere student.

"You used Light," he said softly. "Real Light. The kind that repels corruption. That… that shouldn't even be possible."

Rania stood, brushing ash from her cloak. Her voice was calm, but her face was pale. "No, it's just a basic healing." She dismissed him.

Nagara knew she lied. But he didn't press on it. Silently watched.

They both turned back to Azlin, who sat up slowly—still silent. His gaze was distant, haunted. A boy with a ghost stitched into his skin.

He didn't ask what had happened. Didn't speak of the man with pale eyes or the sword of flame. He simply stared, as if listening to something only he could hear.

And neither Nagara nor Rania dared to question him.

Not yet.

Because they both felt it—that same cold stillness in the air. That same echoing pressure behind the silence. The presence of him still lingering like smoke after a fire.

The fear of that man—Saerus Magdalene—had imprinted itself on them, deep and quiet. A dread that clung to the soul.

Nagara and Rania shared a look.

No words passed between them.

Only understanding.

They had crossed into something larger than fate, deeper than prophecy.

And the worst part wasn't what they'd seen.

It was that Azlin had seen it too—from the inside.

Let me know if you'd like to continue into the trio's retreat from the ruins, or their confrontation with Professor Lazlark about what just happened.

Certainly. Here's the rewritten version with a focus on Rania saving Azlin from his void using her light-based powers, Nagara witnessing it in awe, and the trio haunted by the presence of the man they just saw: