The grand dark tendril, an extension of the void itself, as bleak as the nothingness between stars and thick as a strangling wrap, coursed over Lysander as he sprang with desperate, selfless urgency between Elara and the oncoming shadows. A primal bellow of raw anguish and unyielding determination tore from his mouth, a final, agonised cry through the desolate nothing just as the icy, absolute caress of the nothingness brushed against him, a cold kiss of oblivion. The otherworldly radiance that had briefly flared inside him, a fragile ember of love that knew no bounds of death, flared once again, a final, rebellious flame against the encroaching, consuming night, before being fully and irretrievably extinguished by the voracious shadow, leaving in its wake merely a lingering coldness in the air.
Elara stood frozen with horror, her breath caught in her throat, a silent scream locked in her chest, while Lysander was completely overrun by the grip of the void. His self-sacrifice, a reckless, desperate gesture of love, a reminder of the old, forgotten vows that they had exchanged, cut into her with the raw force of a physical trauma, tearing open the fresh wounds of her waking memories. The remembered heat she had begun to remember tentatively, the precious connection to a lost past, to a love that was both new and old, was extinguished in an instant, consumed utterly by the voracious, limitless void, leaving a profound and gnawing emptiness.
The black, shadowy tendril, now bearing the still, lamenting weight of Lysander's ultimate offering, paused in a moment of eternal seconds, as if to acknowledge the cost of its drive, before fixing its whole, unyielding focus on Elara. The cold, intangible presence, the ancient power that filled the void, heightened its stifling grip, its focus exclusively and possessively upon her, a crushing weight of expectation and a cold, unconditional claim. The single word that had echoed through the hollow chambers of her mind echoed once more, harder, more unequivocal, and infinitely more terrible: "Mine."
Tears, searing and burning, filled Elara's eyes, a bitter mixture of despairing grief for Lysander's noble sacrifice, a heart-rending farewell to love long lost and rediscovered only to be snatched from her once again, and a raw, paralysing fear for the unthinkable fate now hers, alone in the middle of the vacant space. The emptiness had consumed Caius, her present, her anchor, and now its boundless, insatiable hunger stretched out to devour her, to extinguish the very flame of her existence.
But amidst the crippling despondency, a tiny, hot fire of her stubborn will glowed in her, a tiny ember of rebellion against the encroaching darkness. The fierce and unyielding love she bore for Caius, the vivid recollection of his unyielding strength, his ferocious guarding, and his boundless faith in her would not be extinguished by the icy clasp of the void. Lysander's unselfish sacrifice, a testament to the enduring, unselfish strength of love, kindled her own desperate resolve. She would not succumb to the void's clasp without a desperate and ferocious fight.
Drawing on the raw, wild, chaotic energy still burning in her veins, Elara thrashed out with a primal scream at the encroaching shadow. Crimson energy, boiling with uncontrolled power, erupted from outstretched hands, a frantic, blinding wave of defiance hurled against the ancient, suffocating darkness.
The dark tendril receded partially from the raw, unbound chaotic power, hissing as a thing of sheer darkness exposed to the blinding radiance of a forbidden sun. For but a moment, a transitory recession. The ancient force at the back of it, the creature that breathed its claiming whisper, was immense, a power too great to measure, far greater than anything Elara had ever known, even the abysmal might of Aethel.
The heart of unalloyed darkness in the void pulsed again with a sluggish, measured rhythm, and the suffocating silence grew deeper, a suffocating pressure that clung to Elara's very will, silencing the obstinate pulse of her heart. The unseen presence is closer now, its icy gaze a palpable weight on her soul, a suffocating pressure threatening to shatter her will.
"Come to me, Elara," the old voice spoke again in the vacant corridors of her mind, without passion, without emotion, a simple, undeniable directive that would not be denied, a decree from the dawn of time.
But Elara stood on shards of broken, deadly crystal, her legs braced against the shredded, writhing fragments of her prison, her red energy crackling around her like a seething, desperate barrier against the encroaching darkness. "I will not," she hurled silently, her inner voice a mutinous whisper against the void's unyielding insistence, a tiny flame of resistance in the face of utter darkness. "I will not be yours. I will not be consumed."
The black tendril lashed out again with horrific speed and unyielding purpose, a swift, silent strike of naked oblivion. Elara dodged in horror, the chill shadow tracing along her skin, leaving behind a lingering, cold residue that seemed to suck the very life from her, weakening her will with every close brush.
She knew with cold, absolute certainty that she couldn't escape it, couldn't outrun the relentless pursuit. She was trapped in this desolate, crystal universe, faced with a creature of unimaginable, ageless power. Her only remaining hope, though infinitesimal, was to fight, to unleash the entire, unbridled fury of her anarchic energy, even at the price of her own complete and absolute destruction.
Memories of Caius, bitter and living vividly in her mind – his gentle smile, his gentle touch, his unwavering faith in her strength, his all-consuming love that had been her constant solace. That love, that unbreakable bond, was her lifeline in this desolate void, her last, last refuge of power. She would fight for him, for the precious memory of their shared existence, for the last hope, however faint, that she might somehow, someday, rediscover him in the boundless wasteland of the void.
With a throaty roar of raw defiance, Elara unleashed the entirety of her wild power. Red streams of naked power lanced from her fingers as blades of naked light that ripped through the encroaching darkness, shattering the stifling quiet with raw, crackling rage.
The black tendril receded once more, its form trembling and curling up against the blast of her unrestrained energy, but this time it did not merely hiss. A ripple of pure, malicious darkness swept along its dark form, as though the ancient force at its centre was finally noticing her defiance, its cold abstraction surrendering to a flicker of something like annoyance.
The centre of darkness in the void pulsed with a bitter, pulsing ferocity, and the voice of the ancient one echoed in her mind, its tone shifting from icy, relentless demand to a glacial, barely restrained rage that promised unfathomable vengeance: "Defiant mortal. You cannot escape your destiny. You are already mine."
The black tendril increased with terrifying speed, a swirling, crushing whirlpool of raw, pure blackness, a malevolent replica of the one that had so brutally claimed Caius. Elara knew with horrific familiarity that this whirlpool, this swirling well of darkness, was to be her final, irreversible hug.
But as the shadows closed around her, a fresh and unforeseen convulsion of power welled up from within Elara, a convulsion fuelled by her raw grief, her enduring devotion to Caius, and her unfaltering, unconquerable will to survive. The ruddy power surrounding her increased by bounds and leaps, bursting into a searing, blinding field of untrammelled, sheer light that drove the encroaching shadows back.
And in the dazzling brilliance of that light, at the centre of her obstinate toughness, she perceived a brief, shining image, an evanescent echo of a pleasant recollection: Caius, his eyes burning with fierce, unyielding love, his voice a low, vibrating promise that echoed through her very soul: "I will always find you, Elara. Always."
That one wonderful promise, a flimsy lifeline in the gathering darkness, gave her a new, desperate shot of energy. She would not lose. She would fight. And somehow, against all hope, she would find him.
With one final, despairing cry of love and rebellion, Elara jumped right into the maelstrom whirlpool of blackness, her fierce, flaming scarlet energy clashing with the ages-deep, crushing darkness in one final, futile gesture of revolt against the empty darkness's hungry claw.
As Elara plunged headfirst into the whirling maelstrom of sheer darkness, the crystal cage holding them together dissolved completely, exploding outward in a soundless, eldritch shower of shards that dissolve into nothingness within the void. The void's core of sheer darkness pulses once more with an evil certainty, then dissolves into nothingness as if it never happened. And in the deep, resonating silence that ensues, a soft, barely audible whisper, not the chill command of the old power, nor Aethel's shriek of fear, but a gentle, optimistic voice, laced with a desperate yearning, carries on the emptiness: "Elara? Can you hear me?"