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Ifelt the exact moment that everything shifted.

The vortex of power swirling through me reached a fever pitch, every cell in my body vibrating with the combined energies of shadow, fire, and light. The pain was exquisite—not just physical but metaphysical, as if my very soul was being torn apart and remade with each passing second. I couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Could only exist as a vessel for forces beyond comprehension.

Then suddenly, I wasn't alone.

The forge chamber faded around me, replaced by a garden of impossible beauty. Flowers bloomed in colors that had no names, trees stretched toward a sky filled with multiple suns, and the air itself seemed to shimmer with life. In this liminal space between worlds, two figures appeared before me.

Azrael, the Angel of Death, stood tall and imposing, his silver wings—the same shade as my hair—spread wide behind him. His colorless eyes regarded me with pride and sorrow in equal measure. Beside him, Lianna's golden hair caught the light like spun sunshine, her ice-blue eyes—so like Archer's—filled with determination.

"Granddaughter," Azrael's voice resonated through me rather than around me. "You have chosen well."

"The sacrifice must be made," Lianna added, her voice melodic despite the gravity of her words. "But it need not be yours alone."

They each extended a hand toward me, their palms glowing with ancient power.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears.

"I will take your place," Lianna said, her eyes shining with purpose. "I will be the vessel for the final transformation."

"No," I protested, understanding dawning with horrifying clarity. "I can't let you do that."

"It is my choice," she replied with gentle firmness. "My son has found happiness with you and the others. I will not see that taken from him."

Azrael's massive hand closed around mine, his touch surprisingly warm. "Your bond with your mates is too precious to sacrifice, Sierra. The realms need that connection, that balance of powers united in love."

"But the ritual requires?—"

"A sacrifice, yes," Lianna interrupted. "But the texts do not specify who must make it. Only that it must be made."

The garden around us began to pulse with increasing urgency, reality bleeding through at the edges. We were running out of time.

"Take our strength," Azrael commanded, his hand tightening around mine. "Let us lend you our power to complete the forging."

Lianna took my other hand, forming a triangle between us. "My memories, my powers—I give them freely so that you may keep yours."

"But you'll?—"

"I have lived for millennia," she said, her smile serene despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "I have seen wonders and horrors beyond imagining. This is my choice, Sierra. My gift to my son, to you, to all the realms."

Power began to flow from their hands into mine, white-hot and ancient. It coursed through my veins like liquid fire, filling the hollow spaces that had begun to form as the ritual stripped away my essence.

"Remember us," Azrael said, his form beginning to fade. "Remember this moment."

"Tell Archer I love him," Lianna whispered, her body growing translucent. "Tell him I am proud of the man he has become."

The garden exploded in a supernova of light, and I was thrown back into my body with such force that I couldn't breathe. The vortex of power reached its crescendo, and with a sound like reality itself tearing apart, everything changed.

Lightbringer had been forged.

The sword on the dais was transformed, no longer the dark blade of Lightsbane but something new and terrible in its beauty. It gleamed with an inner light that seemed to bend the laws of physics, simultaneously absorbing and reflecting the forge's glow. The runes along its length had changed, now pulsing with a power that made the air around it shimmer.

I collapsed to the stone platform, my legs giving way beneath me. The world spun around me, my vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, I saw three figures rushing toward me, their voices calling my name from what seemed like a great distance.

Strong arms encircled me, lifting me from the hard stone. Callum's scent—pine and shadow—enveloped me as he cradled me against his chest. Rowen's large hand cupped my face, his obsidian eyes searching mine with desperate intensity. Archer hovered at my side, his ice-blue eyes wide with fear and hope.

"Sierra?" Callum's voice was rough with emotion. "Can you hear me?"

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw, as if I'd been screaming for hours. All I could manage was a weak nod.