Lor slumped onto the wooden floor, his body sagging like a puppet with its strings cut, the lantern's flickering glow casting jagged shadows across his rumpled room.
One hand went to his temple, fingers massaging as if warding off a migraine, his loose shirt clinging to his damp chest, the lavender scent of his bath lingering in the air.
His breath came ragged, a soft chuckle escaping.
"Whew," he exhaled, voice weak, sheepish, human again—no longer the thunderous, divine force of the Guiding Light. "That was… intense."
Kiara stared, still crouched on the floor, her sharp eyes wide with disbelief as the glow in Lor's hazel eyes faded, his posture folding back into the shy, forgettable loser from Class D.
It was like watching a mask snap back onto his face, the vast sage replaced by the awkward boy she'd mocked.
