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I don’t just protect her.

I belong to her.

“Orion, no—” Kieran starts.

Too late.

I unleash everything. Every ounce of guardian magic I’ve ever possessed, every flame I’ve ever commanded, every protective instinct that defines what I am. The Academy walls begin to crack. Crystal barriers flicker. Ancient ward-work strains against raw guardian fury unleashed without restraint or self-preservation.

For one perfect moment, hope flares through all three of us.

The barriers shiver. Crack. Begin to?—

The magic rebounds.

Not deflected. Redirected back at me turning my own power into a weapon designed specifically to destroy guardian bloodlines. The backlash hits like lightning in reverse, burning up from earth through every nerve until my bones feel like they’re melting from the inside out.

But something’s wrong.

My guardian magic should be fighting to reach her, burning through any obstacle to ensure her safety. Instead, it keeps redirecting itself. Not toward breaking the barriers—toward reinforcing them.

Like my own power knows she needs to be isolated for this to work.

Like whatever she’s planning requires us to be exactly where we are—outside, desperate, and completely convinced she’s helpless.

I taste failure in every breath.

The tattoos branding my face don’t just mark me—they condemn me. Failed guardian. Broken oath.

And she’s still behind those wards. Alone.

The shame burns hotter than the backlash ever could.

I hit the ground hard enough to crack marble, convulsing as centuries of guardian power turn against itself. The Cauldron burns through my chest like acid, connection to Ash flickering as my nervous system tries to process more magical trauma than any living being should survive.

Guardian tattoos spread across my face in real time, marking me as failed protector while my own magic tears me apart.

“Orion!” Kieran’s hands land on my shoulders, ice magic trying to cool the fire consuming me from within. “Stay with us. Fight through it.”

“The ward-work,” I manage through gritted teeth, tasting copper and ozone. “It’s not just stopping me. It’s learning. Adapting.”

Every attempt I make teaches it new ways to turn guardian magic into suicide.

“They knew,” Kieran says with ice-cold certainty that makes frost spread across the walls. “My father knew exactly what you’d try.”

“Your father designed this.” Finnian’s voice carries defeated precision. “Unseelie ward-work, specifically crafted to kill guardians. He’s been planning this since the moment he learned about the bond.”

I try to push myself upright, but the movement sends fresh agony through every nerve. The guardian tattoos have covered half my face now—permanent testament to failure.

And through it all, through the magical devastation and physical agony, the bond pulses one more time.

She’s still calm. Still... prepared.

Like someone who’s already made peace with death.

No.

No, dammit. She doesn’t get to be calm while I shatter. She doesn’t get to prepare for goodbye while I’m still bleeding to reach her.