The battlefield was a storm of chaos.
Zyra's golden flames crackled at her fingertips, searing through the thick air as she launched herself forward. The Forsaken—these twisted, monstrous things of darkness and bone—shrieked as her fire engulfed them, their forms burning away like ash in the wind.
But for every creature that fell, more came.
Dozens scaled the walls, their claws scraping against the stone, their hollow eyes locked onto Zyra like she was prey.
She didn't hesitate.
creatures, she could feel it—
The darkness.
It coiled through the battlefield like a living thing, its tendrils slithering beneath her skin. A force older than the stars, a presence that shouldn't exist.
And at the center of it—
Kieran.
Zyra turned her head just in time to see him step forward, a wall of shadows rising at his command.
The Forsaken lunged at him—but they never reached him.
Kieran merely lifted a hand, his expression cold, effortless. The shadows surged, swallowing the creatures whole.
Zyra watched as they were unraveled—their bodies twisting, contorting, and then—
Nothing.
Gone.
Erased from existence.
She swallowed hard.
Kieran fought like a god among mortals. There was no hesitation, no wasted movement. Where Zyra's magic burned bright and wild, Kieran's was precise, deadly. A predator's magic.
The battlefield trembled under their combined power.
But even as they cut through the horde, the Forsaken kept coming.
Zyra's flames flickered as she turned to Kieran. "There's too many."
Kieran didn't look at her, his silver eyes locked onto the creatures. "Then we need to stop the source."
Zyra frowned. "The source?"
Before he could answer—
A scream pierced the air.
Zyra's head snapped toward the city below.
The people.
The Forsaken weren't just attacking the fortress. They were tearing through the capital.
Her stomach dropped.
Kieran followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing. "Your priority is staying alive."
Zyra whirled on him, rage burning through her veins. "My priority is saving them."
Kieran's jaw tensed. "If you charge into that city, you'll die."
"Then stop wasting time and help me."
For a moment, their gazes clashed.
Kieran was unreadable—his silver eyes burning with something unspoken, unreadable.
Then, without a word, he turned, his shadows curling at his feet like a living storm.
"Follow me."
---
The Descent Into Darkness
They moved swiftly, cutting through the battlefield, weaving between flames and shadows. Kieran led her through a hidden passageway in the fortress walls—a dark, narrow tunnel that sloped downward into the depths of the city.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became.
And then—
A heartbeat.
Zyra felt it.
A pulse of something ancient and hungry.
She staggered, her magic crackling in response. "What was that?"
Kieran's voice was grim. "The source."
Zyra's breath caught. It was alive.
The Forsaken weren't just mindless creatures.
They were being controlled.
A wave of nausea rolled through her. "How do we stop it?"
Kieran's eyes flickered toward her, shadows curling at his fingertips. "We kill it."
Before it kills us.
---
The City in Ruins
When they emerged from the passage, Zyra nearly stopped breathing.
The city—once a thriving kingdom of golden spires and bustling streets—was in ruins.
Buildings burned, their skeletal remains casting long shadows against the blood-red sky. The scent of ash and death filled the air, and the streets—
The streets were painted in red.
Bodies littered the ground, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. The Forsaken moved through the wreckage like carrion beasts, their skeletal forms dripping with blackened ichor.
Zyra's throat tightened.
She knew war. She had seen destruction before.
But this—
This was annihilation.
She barely noticed Kieran at her side until he murmured, "They're collecting the souls."
Her blood turned to ice.
She turned to him sharply. "What?"
Kieran's expression was dark. "The Forsaken don't just kill. They consume." He nodded toward the battlefield, where the creatures were dragging the dead toward a pulsing rift in the ground.
Zyra's magic flared.
"We have to stop them."
Kieran didn't argue. For once, they were on the same side.
---
The Storm Breaks
The first wave of Forsaken descended on them instantly.
Zyra met them head-on, her fire igniting in a blinding burst of gold. She moved with ruthless precision—dodging claws, slicing through limbs, incinerating everything in her path.
Kieran fought beside her, his shadows moving like sentient creatures, devouring the enemy in an instant.
They were unstoppable.
And yet—
It wasn't enough.
The Forsaken kept coming, endless and unrelenting.
Zyra's magic began to wane, exhaustion creeping into her bones. She couldn't keep this up. Not like this.
And then—
The air shifted.
A figure emerged from the darkness.
Zyra froze.
Because this one—this wasn't a Forsaken.
It was something worse.
Tall and clad in obsidian armor, its body was wreathed in shadows, its face hidden beneath a spiked helmet. An aura of raw, ancient power radiated from it.
The Warden.
The creature that controlled the Forsaken.
Zyra's breath hitched. She had never seen anything like it.
Kieran's entire body tensed beside her.
"Go," he murmured, his voice edged with something she couldn't quite name.
Zyra snapped to him. "What?"
Kieran's silver eyes never left the Warden. "Run."
She didn't.
Because even as fear curled in her chest, even as her body screamed at her to flee—
She knew one thing.
If she left now, if she let Kieran face this thing alone—
She would never forgive herself.
Zyra lifted her hands, golden flames roaring back to life.
Kieran let out a quiet, almost amused breath. "You really are insufferable."
Zyra smirked. "I get that a lot."
The Warden took a step forward—
And the battle truly began.
---