The Temple gardens were alive with laughter, children darting like fireflies beneath the soft silver canopy of boughs. Tyrande was among the quickest, her steps sure as she raced over the flagstones, eyes bright with the thrill of the chase. Lytavis trailed behind, her arms burdened with blossoms gathered for their game, more content to watch than to run.
The air smelled of jasmine and starlight roses. Lanternlight trembled in the pools, scattering mirrored stars across the water.
It happened in an instant. Tyrande's foot caught the edge of a stone; she stumbled forward and fell with a cry. Palms scraped raw, knee split and bleeding, she pushed herself up with trembling arms.
"Tyrande!" Lytavis dropped the flowers where she stood, the petals scattering. She ran, heart pounding, and knelt in the grass beside her friend. Her hands hovered, uncertain. She had done this before—not like this, never for someone else—but something inside her answered, certain and insistent.
"Hold still," she whispered.
She pressed her small hands over Tyrande's knee. At first, nothing—only the hot sting of blood beneath her fingers. Then, like the breath of moonlight, a glow stirred. Pale at first, then brighter, spreading from her hands into Tyrande's skin. The torn flesh closed, the bleeding ceased. Where pain had been, there was only warmth.
Tyrande's breath caught. Her wide eyes were fixed not on the wound, but on Lytavis. "My hands," she said softly, almost disbelieving. "Please?"
Lytavis nodded, though her limbs already felt heavy. She took Tyrande's left hand, cradled it carefully, and poured what was left of her strength into the torn skin. Light flared and knit the flesh closed, leaving only the faintest trace of pink. When she reached for the right, her power faltered—the glow flickered, the wound lessened but did not vanish.
A wave of exhaustion swept through her. She swayed, her vision narrowing. The last thing she saw was Tyrande's face, blurred with worry.
"Lytavis!" Sister Tyratha's voice rang across the garden. She was suddenly there, gathering the child into her arms. "Water, quickly!" she barked to a novice, who sprinted away toward the cloisters.
Lytavis stirred faintly, lashes fluttering. She turned her face toward Tyrande. "Are you… all right?"
Tyrande nodded fiercely, clutching her palms to her chest like a miracle she had to protect. "I am. Because of you."
Relief softened Lytavis's small, pale face. A ghost of a smile touched her lips before her eyes slid closed again, surrendering to the weight of sleep.
The petals she had dropped earlier lay scattered in the grass beside them, glowing faintly in the moonlight as though even they remembered what had just been given.