Freedom slammed into Cactus like a physical blow. Kismet's suffocating tendrils, moments ago an inescapable vise, recoiled with an abruptness that left him gasping. His lungs burned, dragging in cavern air thick with dust and ancient magic. The pressure vanished, leaving behind a jarring emptiness where his will had been so fiercely bound.
Vision swam. Spots danced before his eyes, a dizzying kaleidoscope of purple and black. His body sagged, muscles screaming in protest, a heavy leaden ache settling deep in his bones. He fought to remain upright, knees trembling, but the strength had leached from him, leaving him hollowed out.
Falling. He hit the rough stone floor with a groan, a dull thud echoing in the vast chamber. Pain shot through his hip, but it was a distant sensation, overshadowed by the roaring in his ears and the overwhelming fatigue that threatened to drag him into oblivion.
Reed! Panic sliced through the exhaustion. He forced his head up, eyes darting wildly. Reed lay just a few feet away, eerily still. Cactus crawled, every inch a monumental effort, dragging his heavy limbs across the grit-covered floor.
He reached Reed, nudging him gently with a shaking talon. Reed's scales were cool, his body slack. Cactus's gaze fixed on his eyes. Gone was the unsettling, vacant purple glow. Instead, the familiar warm brown had returned, though they were glazed over, unfocused, staring blankly at the cavern ceiling.
Relief, sharp and overwhelming, surged through Cactus. He pressed a talon to Reed's neck, searching for a pulse. A steady thump, faint but undeniable, vibrated beneath his scales. Alive. He was alive.
A profound, aching sense of victory washed over Cactus. He had done it. He had protected him. His core, which had felt like a hollowed-out shell moments before, now resonated with a fragile, fierce triumph. He slumped fully onto his side, resting his head near Reed's, his own breath ragged and shallow.
Bog groaned from somewhere nearby. Cactus twisted his head, seeing the SeaWing pushing himself up, scales dishevelled, a trickle of blood drying near his temple. Bog, too, looked utterly spent, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a raw, weary exhaustion.