It was dusk when it happened, the sky painted in strokes of soft amber and violet. He had been tending to a grove where ancient oaks stood tall, their roots cradling the earth with centuries of wisdom. The whisper of leaves and the hum of unseen life filled the air, until—
"Elyndor."
The sound of his name, spoken in a voice like the hush of a dying ember, sent a ripple through the air. He turned, and for the first time in eternity, she was there.
Nyxara stood in the heart of the fading light, the last rays of the sun casting a golden edge upon her black veil. Her hair, silver as moonlight, cascaded in soft waves over her dark robes, a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to her like mist. The intricate embroidery on her cloak shimmered faintly. A single crimson gemstone rested against her forehead.
And then he noticed the small creature at her feet.
A fox, its fiery fur dulled by fading life, lay curled upon the forest floor. Its breaths came shallow, rapid. The flicker of its soul was dimming, its time almost at an end.
Nyxara's voice, soft but firm, cut through the silence.
"Save it."
Elyndor blinked, confused. "What?"
She looked at him then, truly looked at him "It is not its time to die."
He hesitated. Never once had she asked him to interfere with death. Their domains had always existed in a delicate balance, and for her to request this…
It meant something.
Slowly, Elyndor knelt, his hand hovering over the fox’s fragile frame. The air, his hand hovering over the fox’s fragile frame. The air around them hummed with unseen energy as life flowed from his fingertips, seeping into the small, trembling body. The glow of vitality returned to its fur. Its chest rose steadily. And then, with a startled blink, the fox leapt to its feet and darted into the undergrowth. Elyndor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. When he turned back to Nyxara, she was still watching him. "Why?" he asked softly.