Lyrielle's POV
The stench of death fills my nostrils as I stand in the center of the chamber, surrounded by bodies. Some are barely recognizable as human—twisted and drained, their faces frozen in expressions of agony. Children. So many children.
My rage is a living thing, cold and precise. It burns like ice in my veins as I raise my hands, summoning flames that aren't quite fire. They dance between my fingers, blue-white and hungry.
"Rise," I command, my voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Your shells are broken, but your souls remain."
The air shimmers as translucent forms begin to separate from the corpses. Some are confused, others terrified. The youngest ones break my heart—little wisps of light that should never have been severed from life so soon.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, though the words feel woefully inadequate. "You're free now."
