Amidst the churning waves of the ocean, Dana emerged, her form tossed like a rag doll by the tempest's fury. The storm raged with relentless might, waves towering above her and threatening to engulf her fragile existence. The salty spray stung her eyes, blurring her vision, as she fought against the violent currents.
“Ravi!” Dana heard a voice calling. She turned her head, her heart pounding in her chest, and spotted two young children just a few feet away. The two kids that had been with D’Arc Order’s enemies. They too were struggling to stay afloat in the tumultuous sea, their small bodies battered by the relentless waves.
Dana's body was injured and bloodied, her strength waning with each passing moment. The wound beneath her right breast oozed crimson into the saltwater, creating a macabre dance of red tendrils in the surrounding blue. The pain, both physical and emotional, threatened to consume her, but the responsibility she felt towards the two young lives beside her pushed her to fight against the violent ocean.
Beside her, the siblings gasped for breath, their terrified eyes reflecting the uncertainty of their situation. The ocean, an unforgiving expanse, offered no solace, no glimpse of land to anchor their hopes. The storm roared, as if mocking their fate, its fury echoing the turmoil within Dana's own heart.
Her once-keen senses dulled with each passing moment, the rhythmic thud of her weakening heart harmonizing with the roar of the storm. Through gritted teeth, her voice strained with pain but laced with determination, Dana spoke to the children, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "Hold on to me!" Her gaze swept the relentless expanse of water, searching for any sign of hope. The two kids, their faces etched with fear, swan towards her.
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As the siblings clung to Dana, their bodies trembling, she desperately searched for something, anything, that could aid them. Her hands fumbled, finding only her broken wooden wand in one of her pockets. The lack of a proper wand compounded her helplessness; casting thaumaturgy without it felt like attempting to catch the wind. She cast a desperate gaze at the children, who clung to her with a mix of hope and despair. A flicker of determination ignited within her, as she used her thaumaturgy to make the wand bigger and she turned it into a long log, a piece of driftwood to keep them afloat amidst the tempest.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the storm showing no mercy. Dana's strength waned, the persistent bleeding stealing the vitality from her limbs. The two kids, their small forms battered by the elements, clung to the driftwood, their eyes mirroring the despair etched across Dana's face.
In the ebb and flow of the storm, Dana's consciousness teetered on the precipice. Her gaze met the girl's, a silent understanding passing between them, transcending the hostility that had defined their first encounter. The ocean bore witness to an unspoken pact for survival.
"Hold on. We'll find help, we have to," the girl's voice quivered.
The boy, his small hand intertwined with his sister's, stared at Dana with wide-eyed innocence. As the storm's ferocity intensified, Dana's strength reached its limits. The pain, a relentless companion, seeped into every fiber of her being. With a final, determined glance at the children, she released her grip on consciousness, sinking beneath the waves.
The sea claimed Dana's fading presence. The children left to navigate the storm without their newfound ally, clung to the driftwood. And in the depths of her fading consciousness, Dana held onto a glimmer of hope. 'At the very least, they will survive,' she thought, her mind drifting into darkness, as she closed her eyes.