Vyra dropped to her knees as the heat tore through her chest again. Purple scales rippled along her arms. She gripped the crystal staff hard, pressing its gold base into the dirt. The wyrm's blood wanted out. She wanted answers. Until she found the wyrm, the staff was all that kept her ribs from cracking open. Outside her shelter, the last surge had left its mark. A wide burst of rune-marked crystal jutted from the scorched ground, frozen mid-flare. Pink light still pulsed under the shards. Anyone passing would know something wrong lived here. A small winged figure drifted close, trailing soft jellyfish-like ribbons. The little fairy hovered near Vyra's shoulder and hummed a low, steady note. Vyra almost waved her off. Then the heat inside her began to cool, pulled thin by the sound. Vyra pressed the staff harder and breathed with the hum. The surge passed. She stood, shaking but whole. She would not burn before she reached the wyrm. She packed the staff, looked once at the broken crystal field, and started walking.

Vyra walked until the trees thinned. The staff in her grip felt wrong. A long crack ran down the crystal, and pink light leaked from the split. One more surge and it would burst. She would burst with it. The little fairy darted ahead, tentacles trailing, and pointed toward a tall mushroom tower set into the slope. Lanterns swung from its red cap. Runes glowed soft on the door. A staff-mender worked inside. Vyra had heard the rumor in the last village. She climbed the steps before she could think better of it. The specialist did not greet her. He took the cracked staff, frowned at the leaking light, and shook his head. A full repair would take days he did not have to give. Vyra's chest already pulsed with new heat. Days would kill her. He reached into a basket and pulled out a coil of green-and-purple vine, claw-thorns curling along its length. He wrapped it tight around the fracture. The thorns bit the crystal and locked. The leaking light dimmed. "Temporary," he said. "Bleed the pressure off before it builds. There is a prism field east of here. Stand inside it when you feel the burn." Vyra paid him with the last of her coin and stepped back into the open. The bound staff felt steadier, but heavier, like a held breath. The fairy hummed at her shoulder, quieter now, watching the vine flex against the crystal. Vyra pressed a hand to her ribs. The heat was already rising again. She turned east. The staff would hold, for now. That was all she had asked for. The wyrm was still somewhere ahead, and she meant to reach it before the vine gave way.