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Gritting my teeth, I haul Vaelin upright, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Trust me,” I murmur, voice trembling.

He meets my gaze, half delirious, but there’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I— I do.”

Charon lunges forward, dagger raised, but I call upon my Space-Time magic, shaping it with trembling hands around Vaelin’s body and mine. The ambient air distorts, swirling like a vortex. The chamber’s walls blur, the orb’s red glow fracturing into streaks of color. My illusions meld with the raw warp of time, forging a bubble that encloses us.

We stand at the bubble’s center, reality warping in a slow ripple. Charon’s face contorts on the edge of the distortion, his movements halting to a crawl. The arcs of red light from the orb sputter at the boundary, unable to penetrate. My heart seizes with exertion—this technique devours power, mental and physical.

Vaelin groans in my arms, trembling as if struggling with unseen chains. “Elira… I can still feel… the Overlord in my mind.”

I steel myself, pressing my palm to his chest. “Focus on me,” I plead, letting illusions and space-time currents merge within us. It’s an intimate weaving—my essence pouring into him, forging a link that might drown out the Overlord’s conditioning.

His eyes flutter shut, sweat beading on his forehead. “You don’t know what you’re risking,” he gasps. “That orb… it’s bound to my gargoyle blood.”

My throat tightens. “I won’t let him twist you,” I vow. “We do this together.”

Space and time swirl like a vortex around us, everything else receding into a haze. My magic crackles, a ferocious hum that merges with his battered aura. Where my hands touch his skin, a current of energy sparks. Fear pounds in my veins—this is almost like stepping into the same torrent that created gargoyles long ago. But I recall the texts describing how melding energies can temporarily sever external bonds.This must work, or we lose him.

Vaelin’s breath hitches, his eyes flicking open. A raw vulnerability glimmers there, desperation and gratitude. Our gazes lock, and an undeniable pull draws us closer, merging magic with something deeper, older—an ache that’s built between us for weeks.

My lips part, a tremor wracking me as I lean in. This time, it’s not simply desire. It’s a frantic bid for unity, a final stand against the Overlord’s chains. Our mouths meet, the kiss igniting with a surge of magic that pulses through every nerve. My illusions shimmer, melding with the space-time bubble, forging a pocket outside normal constraints.

The world warps into a dreamlike haze. Vaelin’s arms slip around my waist, his grip fierce as though clinging to the last thread of sanity. My body hums with an otherworldly force, the swirl of his gargoyle side brushing my consciousness. It’s frightening, a savage current of power, but also enthralling. I pour my calming energy into him, weaving illusions that shield his mind from the Overlord’s voice.

Each brush of our lips crackles with tension—electric, intense. Sweat beads on my eyebrow as I concentrate, forcing the Overlord’s hold away.Let me in,I urge silently, channeling everything I have into stabilizing him. His mouth claims mine in a desperate motion, half pain, half raw need. Our hearts race in unison.

The corridor’s edges vanish. We stand in a place that exists only for us, the bubble of magic offsetting time and space. Charon’s outraged shouts fade to distant echoes. The orb’s red glow flickers, overshadowed by the shimmering union of illusions and gargoyle-born chaos swirling within Vaelin.

He groans against my lips, tension radiating from his muscles. “I can feel it—the Overlord’s anchor loosening. Don’t stop…”

My chest clenches at his plea. I deepen the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other pressed to his chest, magic coursing from me to him. His skin warms, the rigid lines of his face easing as he finally wrests free from the Overlord’s mental lash. Our closeness transcends mere physical sensation; it’s a fusion of our essences, a chaotic swirl that redefines us both.

A ragged moan slips from me, half agony, half exaltation, as the power surges. The link is nearly overwhelming—a kaleidoscope of emotions and memories. I sense Vaelin’s pain from childhood, his forced conditioning, and that gnawing fear of losing control to the gargoyle side. In return, he feels my longing for freedom, my terror of the prophecy, and the flickering hope I cling to.

Our bodies tremble with the strain, pressed tight, hearts pounding in a frantic rhythm. Magic pulses around us, drowning out the rest of the world. The sensation is frighteningly intimate, deeper than any normal union. I gasp into his mouth, tears spilling from my eyes as I absorb the raw anguish he’s carried, and he cradles my face like I’m the only tether he has left.

At some point, it becomes too much. My illusions waver, the space-time bubble flickering. But I sense victory: the Overlord’s mental hold recedes, a door slammed shut. Vaelin shudders, burying his face against my neck, exhaling in a shaky rush. “Elira… you did it.”

I feel the shift in his aura—his gargoyle nature subdues, no longer yanked by that malevolent orb’s power. Relief floods me, tears blurring my vision. Our lips seek each other again, gentler this time, a quiet affirmation of the bond we’ve forged in this swirl of magic and vulnerability. We cling together in the hush, the storm within us settling into a breathless calm.

Slowly, the reality around us reasserts itself. The corridor’s walls come back into focus, the flicker of torches once more visible. Charon’s outraged shout pierces the air from beyond our bubble, and I realize how precarious our situation is. The Overlord’s fortress won’t remain oblivious for long.

I break the kiss, panting. Vaelin’s eyes glisten with a mixture of awe and lingering pain. “We have to go,” I whisper, voice raw.

He nods, still clutching my arm. “I can stand.” Gingerly, he tests his footing, wincing but determined. “Your magic… it cut off the Overlord’s anchor.”

I help him upright, illusions flickering around us again. Charon stands on the far side of the antechamber, spitting curses as he struggles to push through the receding space-time distortion. The orb’s red glow flares wildly, but it no longer envelopes Vaelin’s mind.

“Come on,” I murmur. “We won’t have long before reinforcements arrive.”

Still trembling with aftershocks of our spiritual unity, we dart toward the corridor. Each step is unsteady—Vaelin leans on me, his side evidently throbbing. My illusions swirl, half-formed, but enough to confound Charon for precious seconds. We push up the staircase, hearts pounding, the distant clank of armor echoing. The Overlord’s fortress stirs like a hornet’s nest.

I grit my teeth. “We’ll never reach the main gate unnoticed. Is there another way out?”

Vaelin hisses a breath, forcing away pain. “There’s a side passage in the eastern wing—old catacombs leading to a cliff exit. Risky, but better than fighting an entire garrison.”

We careen into the upper corridors, ignoring the startled cries of a lone guard we pass. My illusions flicker, cloaking us in partial invisibility. The guard yells an alarm, but we’re already gone, footsteps echoing down a side hallway.

Dark Elf soldiers converge from the main corridor, halberds gleaming. I tighten illusions around us like a shifting veil. A staccato of shouts bounces off the stone walls. Vaelin takes the lead now, guiding me through narrower passages, each lined with battered doors and dusty alcoves. At a T-junction, he wavers, color draining from his face. I steady him, heart clenching at how weak he seems.Even severed from the Overlord’s control, he’s not invincible.