The Shadow Wyrm erupted from the ground with a roar that cracked the sky.
Its wings were vast swaths of smoke and shadow, trailing embers and ash. Fangs like blades glinted in its maw, and its many eyes glowed with a crimson fire. The beast towered over the ruined battlefield, shaking off the remnants of rock and blood like dust on its scales.
Eira stood between it and Lucien, her Crest glowing bright against her chest. The air thrummed with ancient magic, the silver light casting stark lines across her face.
Behind her, Ravien barked orders to the guards. "Form a line! Shield the king!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey, weapons drawn, spells flaring to life in their hands. But even as they moved, the Wyrm lowered its head—and charged.
Eira didn't wait.
She raised her hand and let the magic come.
Silver fire erupted from her palm, a beam of concentrated moonlight that struck the creature in the chest. It screamed—a sound that pierced the soul—and reared back, but it wasn't enough to bring it down. The fire only angered it.
The beast slammed a wing into the ridge, sending rock flying. Eira was thrown off her feet, skidding across the ground. Her vision blurred. Somewhere behind her, she heard Lucien call her name—desperate, weak.
She forced herself up.
No time to be afraid.
No time to fail.
She was the Bride of the Eternal King. The bond between them wasn't just ceremonial—it was power. And in that bond, something ancient had awakened.
She turned to Lucien. "Can you still channel magic?"
"Barely," he rasped. "But I can amplify yours."
She rushed to him, dropping to her knees. "Then do it. Bind it to me."
Lucien pressed his bloodied hand to her Crest. Their magic—his eternal night and her silver flame—collided in a flash of white-blue brilliance. The ground shivered beneath her as her veins flooded with energy that was not entirely her own.
She stood again, this time glowing brighter than before. Her hair lifted in an unseen wind, her eyes silver like moons.
The Wyrm hissed and lunged.
But she didn't flinch.
Eira raised both hands, and a massive sigil formed in the air—an ancient rune pulsing with power. She shouted the incantation, her voice echoing with two tones—her own, and one older, deeper, like an echo of a goddess long lost.
"By the oath of blood and flame—I bind you!"
Chains of moonlight burst from the rune and wrapped around the creature, catching it mid-lunge. It roared, thrashing, trying to break free. But the chains held.
"Now!" she cried to the guards. "Attack!"
Ravien and the others unleashed everything—arrows, blades, bursts of elemental fire. The battlefield became a storm of magic and steel. The Wyrm writhed under the onslaught, its body cracking and bleeding shadow.
Eira poured more power into the binding spell, every fiber of her being focused on keeping the chains tight.
But then—it looked at her.
Its gaze pierced the veil of magic, the layers of her soul.
It saw her.
Not just Eira.
Elira.
The warrior. The chosen. The one who had banished it before.
And with a surge of rage, the Wyrm roared—and shattered the chains.
The shockwave knocked everyone back. The guards tumbled. Ravien crashed into a tree. Eira hit the ground hard, magic sputtering.
The Wyrm advanced, wounded but furious.
"Eira!" Lucien's voice, hoarse.
She tried to stand, but her legs were trembling. Her power—drained.
The beast reared again.
This is how I die, she thought. Not in a dream. Not in silence. But here, fighting for him.
And then—
Lucien rose.
Blood streaming from his mouth, his arm clutched to his side, but his eyes ablaze.
He raised his hand, and the ground darkened.
A storm of shadows erupted beneath the Wyrm, tendrils of pure night wrapping around its limbs, its wings, its throat.
"Touch her again," Lucien growled, "and
I will burn your soul from existence."
The tendrils tightened, crackling with dark energy. The Wyrm howled, writhing in agony as Lucien poured more of his power into the curse. His silhouette glowed like a black star, terrifying and beautiful all at once.
Eira, still on her knees, felt the pull of that magic—not as a threat, but as a call. Her bond with Lucien was more than symbolic. She could feel him, deep in her soul. His pain. His strength. His will.
She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up.
"I'm not done," she whispered, staggering toward him.
Lucien turned his head slightly. "You shouldn't move."
"I'm not leaving you alone with that thing."
A small, grim smile flickered across his lips. "Stubborn."
"And you love it."
His gaze softened for the briefest moment.
Then, with a roar, the Wyrm tore free of the shadows and lunged again—wounded but unbroken. Lucien threw up a shield of darkness, but the impact blasted them both backward. Eira flew through the air and slammed into a tree. Everything spun.
She blinked, dazed. Her arm throbbed. Blood trickled from her temple.
"Eira!"
Lucien's voice snapped her back. She saw the Wyrm towering over him now, mouth open, fangs glistening with venom.
"No!" she screamed.
In that instant, her magic surged again—wilder this time, instinctive. The Crest on her chest ignited like a star. She raised her arm, not thinking, and a spear of moonlight formed in her hand.
She hurled it.
The spear struck the Wyrm square in its throat.
The beast shrieked, staggering back. Light exploded from the wound, burning through shadow and sinew alike. Its scream became a gurgle, its wings twitching. Flames licked its belly, devouring its essence from within.
Lucien looked on, stunned.
The Wyrm stumbled, shuddered—and then collapsed in on itself, crumbling to ash.
Silence fell.
Only the wind moved, rustling through broken leaves.
Eira dropped to one knee, chest heaving, heart pounding like a drum. Her vision swam, and darkness teased the edges of her mind.
Lucien was by her side a heartbeat later. "You're hurt."
She looked up at him, smiling through blood and exhaustion. "So are you."
He chuckled, then winced. "Yes. But I'm older. I heal faster."
"Show off."
He gently helped her to her feet, his arms steady despite the blood. She swayed, but didn't fall. Not with him holding her.
Around them, the guards slowly began to rise. Ravien limped forward, covered in bruises but alive.
"Is it… dead?" he asked, eyeing the ashes warily.
Lucien nodded. "For now. But it was only a fragment. A lesser avatar of something much older."
Eira frowned. "You mean… it wasn't the real one?"
Lucien's jaw tightened. "No. That was a whisper. A memory. The real beast still slumbers… beneath the Veil."
Ravien swore under his breath. "Then we'll need more than blades and spells next time."
"We'll need her," Lucien said, looking at Eira.
She blinked. "Me?"
"You channeled the Binding Light. That spell hasn't been used since the Age of Flame. Not even I could summon it."
Eira looked down at her hands. They were shaking, covered in blood and dirt. "I didn't even know what I was doing."
"But you did it." Lucien cupped her cheek. "And it saved us."
She swallowed hard. The warmth in his touch, the pride in his voice—it was almost too much. She wasn't used to being seen like this. As strong. As chosen.
As his equal.
The soldiers began to murmur, some kneeling. Others bowed.
Not to Lucien.
To her.
"My lady," Ravien said, kneeling despite his injuries. "You are more than a bride. You are a queen."
Eira's breath caught.
She had come to this world by accident. A freak of fate, reborn into a body not her own. She had expected chains. A crown of thorns.
But now, the chains were breaking.
And the crown… maybe it was hers to wear.
Lucien leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "You were magnificent."
"Stop that," she whispered, blushing.
"Why?"
"Because I'm covered in monster guts and probably look like I crawled through a chimney."
He smirked. "Still the most beautiful thing I've seen in five hundred years."
She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"And you're mine."
Her heart stuttered.
But before she could respond, a wind swept through the battlefield—cold, unnatural. The ashes of the Wyrm swirled into the air, forming a strange shape.
A sigil.
Lucien's expression turned grim. "No…"
"What is it?" she asked.
He narrowed his eyes. "A mark of return."
"A warning?"
"A promise."
Eira stepped closer to him, her fingers curling around his. "Then let it come."
Lucien looked down at her and nodded. "Together."
And as the wind scattered the last of the ashes, the two of them stood side by side—bride and king, warrior and shadow—ready for whatever darkness would rise next.