Chapter 15
The Blight's Retreat
As the spell's energy surges, the shadowy blight recoils. Colors begin to seep back into the land, the oppressive sadness lifts, and the air feels lighter. The magic, though chaotic, is powerful.
The air crackled, not with the usual happy fizz of a perfectly executed spell, but with something wilder, something that felt like a thousand tiny fireflies doing the tango inside our fur. My wand, usually a friendly shimmer of honey-gold, was doing its own jig, spitting sparks that smelled suspiciously like burnt sugar. Beside me, Russo, bless his overthinking heart, was clutching his wand so tight I was surprised it hadn't snapped. His eyes were wide, darting from the swirling vortex of colors in the cauldron to the creeping shadows that still clung to the edges of Willow Creek.
"Are you sure about this, Blue?" Russo whispered, his voice a nervous squeak. "It feels… a bit much."
"A bit much is exactly what this blight needs, Russ!" I chirped, trying to sound braver than I felt. The blight, you see, had been like a grumpy cloud that refused to move. It had started subtly, a faded flower here, a silent bird there, but then it had gone full-on gloom-fest. Everything was grey and sad, and even the normally cheerful cobblestones looked like they were sighing.
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