Lucky stood atop Skywatch Hill, gazing at the jagged black storm cloud unfurling across the horizon like a dark curtain. Umbrael's final push was beginning—his forces rising from shattered roots, corrupted rivers, and broken sky.
But she didn't tremble.
Behind her stood the Alliance: fairies of every wing shape and color, star spirits, phoenixes, thornlings, whisper trees, and even reformed shadow sprites.
The forest was not fractured anymore. It was one.
And Lucky, wings shimmering like constellations over fire, raised her staff.
"Tonight," she said, "we hold the line between hope and oblivion."