The Ultimate Sacrifice

Branwen lay on the forest floor, her entire body trembling from the overwhelming strain. The ground still pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips, the energy she had summoned clinging to the soil, but it was weakening with each moment. The healing was almost done, but Branwen could feel the true danger looming ahead. The land wasn’t finished with her, nor was the corruption. They were both pulling at her, each demanding more—more than Branwen had thought possible.

Her vision blurred as her strength waned. Every breath felt like she was breathing in thick smoke, her lungs burning with the effort to stay present. Her mind wavered, caught between the physical world and the primal forces that had surged through her. They were wild, untamable, and they wanted to consume her. The land demanded everything, and Branwen feared she didn’t have much left to give.

Her companions stood nearby, their voices a distant murmur in her fading consciousness. She could hear them calling her name, but it was muffled, as though they were speaking through water. Each word struggled to break through the haze that had settled over her. Lysander’s voice was the strongest, filled with urgency and worry.

“Branwen, stop! You’ve done enough!” he shouted, his words growing clearer for a brief moment. His hand grasped her shoulder, the warmth of his touch barely registering in her numbed body. He was trying to heal her, trying to channel his own magic into her exhausted frame, but it wasn’t enough. Branwen knew it wouldn’t be.

“I can’t stop,” Branwen rasped, the words slipping from her mouth in barely a whisper. Her throat felt dry, the effort to speak almost too much to bear. “It’s not done. I need to… finish.”

The corruption was still there, she could feel it writhing beneath the surface like a wounded beast. It was weaker now, but it wasn’t gone. She had to push deeper, had to purge the last remnants of the darkness before the land could truly heal. The cost, however, was becoming unbearable. Her body screamed in protest, every muscle burning with fatigue, every bone aching with the strain of the magic she had unleashed.

Archer crouched beside her, her bow forgotten on the ground as she reached for Branwen’s hand. Her voice was sharp, but Branwen could hear the worry buried beneath it. “You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going like this!” Archer snapped, her grip tightening. “There has to be another way!”

“There isn’t,” Branwen whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustling of the trees. The land had spoken to her, had shown her the path she needed to take, and it was one she had to walk alone. The magic she had called upon was ancient, powerful, and relentless. It wouldn’t let her go until the ritual was complete.

Selene knelt on her other side, her face pale with concern. “Branwen, please. We need you. Don’t do this.” Her hand rested on Branwen’s back, a comforting weight that grounded her for a moment, but it wasn’t enough to pull her out of the darkness that was closing in.

“I have to,” Branwen said, her voice trembling. Her fingers dug into the earth, her nails scraping against the dirt as she tried to pull herself up. She needed to stay connected to the land, needed to feel its pulse, even as it threatened to pull her under. “The land… it needs more.”

Lysander’s magic flared once more, a soft golden light enveloping Branwen as he tried to stabilize her. She could feel his energy flowing into her, but it felt distant, disconnected. The power she had summoned was far beyond anything Lysander could counteract, and even he knew it. His hands trembled as he worked, sweat beading on his brow as he fought to keep her anchored in the physical world.

“This magic is killing her,” Lysander muttered under his breath, though the words were loud enough for both Archer and Selene to hear. “I can’t keep her stable much longer. It’s too strong.”

Archer’s jaw tightened, her frustration evident as she glared at the ground. “Then what do we do?” she asked, her voice sharp. “We can’t just let her die!”

Branwen’s body shuddered violently as another wave of magic coursed through her, the primal forces responding to her desperate call. The corruption was retreating, she could feel it, but it was dragging her down with it. The darkness clung to her like a parasite, feeding off her energy, and Branwen wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold on.

“I don’t… have a choice,” Branwen said, her voice barely audible. Her fingers clawed at the dirt, her grip slipping as the strength in her arms gave way. She could feel the earth calling to her, pulling her deeper into its embrace. The land was healing, but the price it demanded was more than she could give.

Selene’s hand tightened on her back, and Branwen could feel the tremor in the other woman’s touch. “There has to be something we can do,” Selene whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We can’t lose you.”

Branwen’s heart ached at the raw emotion in her friends’ voices, but she knew the truth. The land needed more than she could give on her own, but it also needed someone to guide the magic. Someone had to be the conduit, had to channel the energy that was healing the forest, and that someone was her.

“I’m sorry,” Branwen whispered, her voice breaking. “I wish… I could stop. But it’s not done. Not yet.”

The ground beneath her hands began to tremble, the earth groaning as the final vestiges of corruption clung to the roots of the trees. Branwen could feel the darkness weakening, its hold on the land loosening with each passing moment, but it wasn’t gone yet. It was fighting back, lashing out in one last, desperate attempt to maintain its hold.

And then, with a sudden burst of energy, the corruption surged toward her, a wave of dark magic slamming into Branwen with the force of a hurricane. She cried out as the darkness wrapped itself around her, squeezing the air from her lungs, threatening to pull her under completely. For a moment, Branwen thought she might lose herself to the darkness, that she might become part of the very corruption she had fought so hard to destroy.

But then, something shifted.

The primal forces within Branwen surged, fueled not by darkness, but by the life energy she had fought so hard to preserve. She could feel it—an ancient, pulsing power that resonated deep within the earth. It was stronger than the corruption, stronger than the darkness that had taken root in the land. And it was hers to command.

Branwen let out a sharp breath, her chest heaving as the weight of the corruption pressed against her. But now, she pushed back with a newfound strength, drawing on the primal forces that had been waiting for this very moment. She could feel the land responding, its pulse matching her own heartbeat, and the darkness began to retreat once more, its hold finally loosening.

Lysander’s hand gripped her shoulder tightly, his voice strained as he tried to reach her through the fog of magic. “Branwen, stay with us! Don’t give in!”

Selene’s voice joined his, softer but no less urgent. “We need you. Please, Branwen, don’t leave us.”

Branwen’s vision blurred, her body trembling as the power surged through her. She could feel her life force being drawn into the earth, the energy of the ritual pulling her closer to the edge of oblivion. But she wasn’t alone. She had her friends—her companions who had fought beside her through every battle, who had stood by her even when the odds seemed insurmountable. And they were with her now, lending her their strength, their will to survive.

“I’m… still here,” Branwen whispered, though her voice was weak. She could feel the corruption retreating, its hold on the land finally breaking as the light of her magic burned through it. The forest, once dark and twisted, began to show signs of life again. The trees, their bark blackened and brittle, were slowly returning to their former strength. The air, once thick with decay, grew lighter, fresher, as if the very atmosphere was breathing a sigh of relief.

“It’s working,” Archer said, her voice filled with awe as she watched the forest around them begin to heal. The once-barren ground was now sprouting new life—tiny green shoots pushing their way through the soil, reaching for the sunlight that had been hidden for so long.

Branwen could feel it, too. The land was healing, the corruption was dissolving, and the primal forces she had summoned were retreating back into the earth, their work nearly done. But the cost had been great. Every breath Branwen took was a struggle, her body weak, her muscles trembling with exhaustion.

“I don’t know if… I can hold on,” Branwen murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. The magic was fading, and with it, so was she.

Lysander knelt beside her, his hands glowing softly as he poured what little healing magic he had left into her. “You’ve done enough,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both relief and concern. “The land is healing. You’ve saved it, Branwen. But you have to stop now, or you’ll—”

“I can’t stop,” Branwen interrupted, though her voice was barely more than a whisper. “It’s not done yet.”

Selene shook her head, her expression filled with worry. “Branwen, you’ve done everything you can. Look around—the forest is coming back to life.”

Branwen’s breath came in shallow gasps as she struggled to stay conscious. She could feel the land beneath her, its pulse growing stronger with every passing moment, but the darkness still lingered in the deepest roots. She couldn’t leave it unfinished. She couldn’t walk away when there was still work to be done.

“I need to go deeper,” Branwen whispered, her fingers curling into the soil. “The corruption… it’s still there. I can feel it.”

Lysander shook his head, his voice firm. “No. You’ve given everything you had. It’s time to let go.”

Branwen wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t enough, that the land needed more. But her strength was failing, her body on the verge of collapse. She had fought so hard, given so much, and now there was nothing left. The primal forces that had sustained her were retreating, leaving her drained, hollow.

“Please,” Selene whispered, her hand resting gently on Branwen’s back. “We can’t lose you.”

Branwen’s heart ached at the raw emotion in Selene’s voice, but she knew the truth. The land was healing, but it needed more time—more time than she could give. She had done everything in her power to save it, but now it was up to the earth to finish the job.

“I’m sorry,” Branwen whispered, her eyes closing as exhaustion finally overtook her. “I’ve… done all I can.”

Archer’s hand gripped hers tightly, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “You’re going to make it through this, Branwen. You have to.”

Branwen’s breathing slowed, her chest rising and falling with increasing difficulty. She could feel herself slipping away, the darkness closing in around her. But in that darkness, she felt a deep sense of peace. The land was healing. The corruption was gone. And for the first time in a long while, Branwen felt that her burden had finally been lifted.

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if the words were for her companions or for the land itself.

The world around her grew dim, the sounds of her friends’ voices fading into the background as Branwen drifted into unconsciousness. Her body went still, her breath shallow and weak, as the magic finally released its hold on her.

Lysander’s hands glowed with healing magic, his expression etched with fear as he tried to stabilize Branwen’s failing body. The ground beneath them was soft and warm now, but Branwen’s skin was cold, her pulse faint. He could feel her slipping away, and despite his best efforts, there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Come on, Branwen,” Lysander muttered under his breath, his voice tense. “You can’t give up now.”

Archer hovered close by, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. “She’s fading too fast. We need to move her—get her somewhere safe.”

Lysander didn’t respond immediately. His focus was entirely on keeping Branwen’s fragile life force intact. But even with all his skill, all his power, he knew the truth. Branwen had given everything she had to heal the land, and now she was paying the price.

“We’ll move her,” Lysander finally said, his voice tight. “But I don’t know if it’ll make a difference.”

Selene’s expression twisted with frustration. “Don’t say that. There has to be something we can do.”

Lysander looked up at her, his face drawn with exhaustion. “I’m trying everything I can, Selene. But this magic she used—it’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen. It’s ancient, primal. And it’s taken almost everything from her.”

Selene knelt down beside Branwen, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair away from Branwen’s face. “You’re going to make it through this,” she whispered, her voice fierce. “You’ve been through worse. You can survive this.”

Branwen’s chest rose and fell with shallow, labored breaths, but there was no response from her. The glow of life that had once radiated from her seemed to have dimmed, leaving behind a pale, fragile shell. It was as if the very essence of her being had been poured into the land, leaving nothing behind.

“We have to move,” Archer said, her voice firm. “We can’t let her die out here.”

Lysander nodded, though his expression was grim. “I’ll stabilize her as best I can, but we need to get her somewhere she can rest. She needs time to recover, and right now, she doesn’t have it.”

The three of them worked quickly and carefully, lifting Branwen’s limp form from the ground. Her body was light, almost too light, as if the weight of her spirit had already begun to slip away. The forest around them, once blackened and dying, was now teeming with life. New shoots of grass and wildflowers pushed through the soil, the trees stretched their branches toward the sky, and the air was fresh and clean, free of the stench of corruption.

But even with the land healing around them, the victory felt hollow. Branwen had given everything to save it, and now, her life hung in the balance.

As they began their slow journey through the newly revived forest, the silence between them was thick with tension. Every step felt heavy, weighed down by the uncertainty of whether Branwen would survive the ordeal.

“She’s going to pull through,” Archer said, breaking the silence as if trying to reassure herself as much as the others. “She has to.”

“She will,” Selene echoed, her voice unwavering. “Branwen is stronger than any of us. If anyone can come back from this, it’s her.”

Lysander remained silent, his expression tight as he concentrated on keeping Branwen stable. His magic flowed steadily into her, but even he could feel that it was barely enough. The primal forces she had channeled had taken their toll, leaving her teetering on the edge between life and death.

The forest around them was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves and the soft crunch of their boots against the earth. The land had been restored, but the cost had been almost too high. As they moved through the trees, the weight of Branwen’s sacrifice settled over them like a shroud.

Finally, after what felt like hours, they reached a small clearing nestled within the heart of the forest. The trees here stood tall and proud, their branches forming a protective canopy overhead. The ground was soft, covered in a blanket of moss and wildflowers. It was a peaceful, serene place—a place that seemed untouched by the darkness that had plagued the rest of the forest.

“This is as good a spot as any,” Lysander said quietly, glancing around the clearing. “We’ll set her down here and let her rest.”

Archer and Selene carefully lowered Branwen onto the soft ground, making sure she was as comfortable as possible. Lysander knelt beside her, his hands glowing with a faint golden light as he continued to channel healing magic into her frail form.

“We’ll take turns keeping watch,” Archer said, her tone brisk and businesslike. “Selene, you take first watch. Lysander, you need to rest. You’re no good to her if you burn yourself out.”

Lysander opened his mouth to argue, but one look from Archer silenced him. He knew she was right. He had already exhausted much of his magic trying to keep Branwen alive. If he didn’t rest, he wouldn’t be able to help her when she needed it most.

“Fine,” he said, reluctantly stepping back from Branwen’s side. “But if anything changes, you wake me immediately.”

Selene nodded, her eyes fixed on Branwen’s pale face. “Of course.”

As Lysander settled down a few paces away, Selene sat cross-legged beside Branwen, her gaze never wavering. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the clearing, but Selene didn’t seem to notice. Her focus was entirely on Branwen, her jaw clenched in determination.

Archer paced the perimeter of the clearing, her eyes scanning the trees for any sign of danger. But the forest was quiet, peaceful, as if the land itself was watching over them, ensuring they had the time they needed to recover.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the soft murmur of the wind. The forest was alive, vibrant with the energy that Branwen had poured into it, but the toll it had taken on her was undeniable.

As the first stars began to appear in the night sky, Selene glanced down at Branwen’s still form, her brow furrowing with worry. “Come on, Branwen,” she whispered softly. “You’ve done enough. It’s time to come back to us.”

But Branwen didn’t stir.

Lysander’s hands hovered over Branwen, glowing faintly as he poured what little healing magic he had left into her. His brow was furrowed in concentration, sweat beading on his forehead. He had done this countless times before, pulling comrades back from the brink, but this was different. The magic that had ravaged Branwen’s body was unlike anything he had ever encountered—it was primal, wild, and devastating. The land had healed, but the cost had been immense.

"Her pulse is weak, but she's still with us," Lysander murmured, though his tone was far from confident. He could feel Branwen’s spirit flickering, fragile like a candle in the wind. The magic had drained her, taken her to the very edge, and now it was up to him to pull her back.

Selene crouched beside him, her face tight with worry. “How long can she stay like this?” she asked, her voice hushed, almost as if she were afraid to disturb the fragile balance.

Lysander shook his head grimly. “I don’t know. Minutes, maybe. She’s fading fast.”

Archer stood nearby, her eyes sweeping the newly healed forest. The air was fresh, the trees vibrant with new life, and the corruption that had once poisoned the land had retreated. It should have felt like a victory, but all she could feel was a gnawing fear as she looked down at Branwen’s still form.

“We need to move,” Archer said, her voice cutting through the tension. “She can’t survive out here. We need to get her somewhere safe, somewhere we can help her.”

Lysander didn’t argue. He had already given everything he had to stabilize Branwen, but it wasn’t enough. They had to get her out of the forest and find proper shelter. Without it, she wouldn’t make it through the night.

Selene’s gaze flicked to Lysander, her eyes wide with a rare glint of uncertainty. “Can we move her without making things worse?”

"We have to try," Lysander replied, though the doubt in his voice was unmistakable. He wasn’t sure what would happen if they moved her, but leaving her exposed in the forest wasn’t an option either.

Archer knelt down, her voice softening as she placed a hand on Branwen’s cold, clammy forehead. “You’ve saved this land, Branwen. We’re not going to let you go now.”

Selene stood and ran her hand through her hair, a nervous habit that only surfaced when she was deeply worried. “We need to get back to the camp,” she said, turning to look at the others. “There’s shelter there, and we have supplies. It’s the only chance she has.”

Lysander nodded, already thinking ahead. “I’ll carry her,” he said, standing to his feet, his face set in determination. “Archer, you lead the way. We need to move quickly.”

Archer nodded, already moving into position, her eyes scanning the treeline for any signs of danger. Selene moved to help Lysander lift Branwen, who was limp and unresponsive, her breathing shallow and uneven.

As they began to move, the forest around them seemed to breathe with life. The once-tainted land had been purged, and now it was full of the sounds of new beginnings—leaves rustling in the wind, birds chirping softly, the distant sound of water flowing in a nearby stream. The contrast between the newly restored beauty of the land and Branwen’s fragile state was almost too much to bear.

“We owe her everything,” Selene whispered as they walked, her voice thick with emotion.

Lysander nodded but said nothing. He was too focused on keeping Branwen stable, his magic still gently flowing into her in a desperate attempt to hold her together.

As they walked, every step felt like a race against time. The further they moved from the heart of the forest, the more Branwen seemed to slip away. Her breathing grew shallower, her skin paler. Every moment felt like it could be her last.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the edge of the forest where their camp lay in a small clearing. The sight of the familiar tents and makeshift shelters brought a brief surge of relief, but it was fleeting. They still had to save Branwen.

Lysander carefully laid Branwen down inside one of the tents, his face set in grim determination as he began to gather the herbs and potions they had brought with them. "We need to keep her body stable while I try to mend the damage," he said, his voice strained.

Archer knelt beside him, handing over what supplies she could find. “Do whatever it takes. We can’t lose her.”

Lysander didn’t respond, his focus entirely on Branwen as he worked feverishly to heal the damage that had been done. He mixed herbs with precision, his hands moving quickly, but his eyes betrayed the fear that he tried to keep buried.

Outside the tent, Selene paced, her worry growing with each passing moment. She glanced back at the forest, at the trees now full of life, and clenched her fists. “She gave everything for this,” she muttered. “We can’t let it end like this.”

Archer stood beside her, her gaze steady. “She’s strong, Selene. She’ll pull through.”

“I’ve seen Branwen do amazing things, but this… this is different.” Selene shook her head. “I’m not sure anyone could survive what she just did.”

Archer’s jaw tightened. “Then we’ll make sure she does. We owe her that.”

Inside the tent, Lysander hovered over Branwen, his hands glowing with healing magic as he whispered incantations under his breath. The herbs and potions he had used had helped, but they weren’t enough. Branwen’s body had been ravaged by the primal forces she had channeled, and no amount of traditional healing was going to fix that.

“Come on, Branwen,” Lysander muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never given up before. Don’t start now.”

But despite his efforts, Branwen’s condition didn’t improve. Her breathing remained shallow, her pulse weak. Lysander could feel her slipping away, and it tore at him. He had seen so many people die—comrades, friends—but the thought of losing Branwen felt different. She wasn’t just another casualty. She was a part of this land, a part of them.

Suddenly, Branwen’s hand twitched, and Lysander’s eyes widened in surprise. “Branwen?”

Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments, and her lips moved, but no sound came out. Still, the small sign of life was enough to spark a glimmer of hope in Lysander’s chest.

“She’s fighting,” Lysander said, his voice stronger now. “She’s still in there.”

Archer and Selene rushed into the tent, their eyes filled with hope. “She’s waking up?” Archer asked, her voice barely contained.

Lysander shook his head. “Not yet, but she’s trying. That’s a good sign.”

They watched in silence as Lysander continued to work, every second feeling like an eternity. Branwen’s hand twitched again, her fingers curling slightly as if she were trying to hold on to something, anything.

Outside the tent, the wind whispered through the newly healed trees, and the scent of fresh earth filled the air. The forest was alive again, full of the vibrant energy that Branwen had fought so hard to restore.

And as her friends stood watch over her, waiting, hoping, they could only pray that the land she had saved would give her the strength to return to them.

For now, all they could do was wait. And hope.