Tree had grown hollow and corrupted, its golden bark blackened and brittle. Umbrael's magic had turned it into a gate for his army.
Lucky and her allies stormed it.
The battle raged among twisted roots and shifting branches. Thornlings pierced the ground, phoenixes scorched shadows, and Lucky leapt through vines and flame, guiding each blow like a conductor of magic and momentum.
At the heart of the tree, Lucky touched the rot—and poured light into it.
The corruption shrieked and peeled back, but not without lashing out. Marla was struck. Gleam was wounded.
Lucky clenched her fists. "We're not finished. Not yet."