“She’s not going to die,” I say out loud, but the sun warrior gives a curt, pitying shake of her head.

“There is no cure for a broken soul.”

I gather Saengo against my chest, clutching her body as my magic clings to her fragile soul, fighting to hold on. Pain wrenches beneath my ribs, a hollow echo of what she must be feeling. Tears slip down my cheeks, spattering against her flushed skin.

I wasn’t able to heal her before, not with the Dead Wood still steeped in the Soulless’s poisonous magic. But with the source of the rot gone, it would have to work now, wouldn’t it?

I won’t let her die. Not again. Closing my eyes, I touch my forehead to her burning one as my craft awakens. The Soulless’s power still courses through me, a wildfire burning through my bones. It fuels my magic as I take hold of her soul.

Saengo gasps, back arching, her nails gouging my arms. I barely feel it. My magic traces the cracked edges of her soul, learning its warmth, its strength, its will to live. Her soul responds, reaching for me through our connection. She is my familiar, my conduit, which means she has access to my magic. I throw that connection wide, letting my magic pour into her, sinking into all the little fractures of her soul, sealing the splinters like mortar over stone.

Light explodes between us, so bright it sears through my closed lids. The torrent surging through Saengo glows radiant, her body shining like sunlight trapped beneath her skin.

Then warm fingers touch my face. I startle back. Saengo smooths away my tears, but more fall as I shake in disbelief. I open the collar of her tunic. The rot isn’t gone, but it has diminished into a tiny bundle of thin blue threads at the center of her chest.

It’s a temporary fix. She isn’t healed, maybe because I’m not a proper healer. But for now, it’s enough. She’ll live.

“The soulguide,” the sun warrior whispers behind me. Her face goes slack with awe. Others have gathered behind her, shamans and shadowblessed alike, drawn by the beacon of our bond. “The soulguide! She’s here! She stopped the rot!”

The words ripple across the battlefield, carried on columns of smoke and blades of grass, building from a series of whispers into a resounding chorus that rolls across the grasslands like a thundercloud.

The voices converge into a war cry as the Nuvali rage into battle once more. The earth trembles beneath the unleashing of crafts and the charge of their armored dragokin. Sellswords and soldiers flee before the renewed onslaught, terrified by the shamans’ sudden fervor.

I look away, unable to bear the sight of Evewynians being cut down. Saengo pulls at my arm, and I help her sit up. She’s weak, but the healthy flush of her skin has returned.