He tried to focus harder, to grasp at the dissolving memory.
Luna's incarnate squeezed his hand more tightly.
He turned and found her face mere inches from his own. Close enough that he could see individual flecks in her moon-blue irises.
His breath caught as he stared at her face that had gone slightly red.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
For several moments, he couldn't form words. His throat had gone dry, and every previous thought in his head had scattered like leaves in the wind.
"I'm okay…" He cleared his throat and nodded, leaning back slightly to create space as he tried to regain his composure.
"—Look at that!" The Head Champion's voice broke through the moment. "The Holy Son has succumbed to her guile! Can't you all see it? He's been bewitched, compromised, his judgment is clouded by—"
The Holy Son's usual stoic mask returned instantly. He stood, and his aura surged violently, cutting off the Head Champion's words mid-sentence.
