The battlefield was silent for a breath.
A single, frozen moment before the world exploded into chaos.
The Warden moved first.
Its form blurred, disappearing into the dark before Zyra could react. Then—a pulse of black magic slammed into her chest, sending her flying.
The world tilted. Stone shattered beneath her as she skidded across the ground, the air torn from her lungs.
Damn it.
Zyra gritted her teeth and forced herself up. Fast.
The moment she regained her footing, the Warden was already there—a monstrous shadow tearing toward her.
She barely dodged.
A massive, jagged blade cut through the space where she had been standing, carving through stone like it was paper.
She felt the heat of it, the sheer power.
Too fast. Too strong.
Zyra swung her hands forward, fire surging in a blinding arc. The golden flames rushed toward the Warden—
Only for it to absorb them.
Zyra's stomach dropped.
The creature's body seemed to drink in her fire, the flames flickering before vanishing completely. As if it had never been there at all.
Impossible.
She barely had time to process it before Kieran struck.
His shadows lunged for the Warden, curling like living serpents, wrapping tight around the creature's armor—
Only for the Warden to turn, grab the tendrils, and snap them like threads.
Kieran's expression remained unreadable, but Zyra didn't miss the way his hands curled into fists.
Shadows and fire. Neither could touch it.
What the hell were they supposed to do?
The Warden tilted its head, as if watching them struggle was amusing.
Then, in a single step, it vanished again.
Zyra's eyes darted left—right—above—
There.
A flicker of movement behind Kieran.
Too fast.
Zyra moved without thinking.
She launched herself at him, her hands slamming against his chest as she shoved him out of the way.
A second later, the Warden's blade slammed down.
Right where Kieran had been standing.
Zyra felt the force of it shatter the ground beneath her feet.
Kieran's eyes snapped to her, silver flashing with something unreadable.
Then he was moving.
His shadows wrapped around both of them, and suddenly—
Darkness.
---
The World Between Light and Dark
Zyra stumbled as the shadows around them dissipated.
She recognized the place instantly.
A rooftop. One of the old watchtowers near the city's ruins, overlooking the battlefield. The war still raged below, the Forsaken devouring the dead, their screeches piercing the air.
And the Warden—
It stood in the street below, looking up at them.
Unbothered. Patient.
It knew.
They couldn't run forever.
Zyra turned sharply to Kieran. "You teleported us?"
Kieran ignored the question. His gaze was locked on the Warden, his jaw tight.
"That thing," Zyra whispered, "it's absorbing magic."
"I know."
A pause.
Then—
Kieran exhaled sharply. "It's not just absorbing it."
Zyra frowned. "What do you mean?"
Kieran's eyes flickered to hers, his expression unreadable. "It's feeding on it."
The words sank in like ice.
Zyra swallowed. "Then how the hell do we kill it?"
Kieran was silent for a long moment.
Then, finally, he murmured, "We don't."
---
Fated, Yet Divided
Zyra's hands clenched. "We don't?"
Kieran turned to her, silver eyes burning. "Not now."
Zyra shook her head. "We don't have time to run." She gestured below, where the Forsaken were still tearing through the city. "People are dying—"
"I know." Kieran's voice was sharper now, his patience thinning. "But if we waste our strength here, we'll die too."
Zyra felt her pulse hammering in her ears. "I don't care."
Kieran's shadows coiled, his power surging. "Then you're a fool."
The words should have stung.
They didn't.
Because Zyra knew what this was.
Fear.
Kieran was afraid.
Of the Warden. Of what it meant.
Of her dying.
Something tight twisted in her chest.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then—a shift.
Zyra barely had time to react before Kieran's hand closed around her wrist.
A shiver shot through her.
Not from fear. Not from the cold.
But from the sheer, raw intensity of his touch.
His grip wasn't rough. Wasn't violent.
But it was firm.
Unyielding.
A silent command.
Stay.
Her heartbeat slammed against her ribs.
She should have pulled away. Should have fought him.
But something held her still.
His touch was like a brand, a vow, a curse.
Fated, yet divided.
Zyra's breath shook.
She hated him.
She wanted him.
She hated that she wanted him.
Kieran's thumb brushed against the inside of her wrist, just for a second—just long enough to send a tremor through her entire body.
Then, just as quickly, he let go.
And the moment shattered.
---
A Plan of Desperation
Kieran turned away first. His voice was quiet, but lethal.
"We can't kill the Warden."
Zyra swallowed, forcing herself to focus. "Then what do we do?"
Kieran's silver eyes lifted, burning in the dim light.
"We break its connection to the Forsaken."
Zyra blinked.
A pause.
Then—understanding slammed into her.
"The rift," she whispered.
Kieran nodded.
The Forsaken were pouring from one place. That dark rift in the heart of the city.
If they couldn't kill the Warden, they could sever its army.
Zyra exhaled. Finally, a chance.
She met Kieran's gaze.
"Then let's burn it down."
A smirk curled at the edge of Kieran's lips. Just a ghost of one.
Then, shadows swirled at his feet.
Zyra's fire roared to life.
Together, they leapt into the dark.
---