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Eventually, we return to the dais, battered but triumphant. We’ve carved out a base in these ruins. Not a fortress exactly, but a labyrinth of illusions and sealed passages that might keep the monarchy pinned long enough for me to attempt the unbinding. Malphas, bloodied and panting, collapses on a chunk of fallen arch. I sit beside him, drained to the core.

His eyes flick to me, expression wavering between fierce pride and grim uncertainty. “We’ve done what we can. If the monarchy doesn’t come soon, we’ll starve. But I suspect they’ll sense the disturbance from our illusions and come running.”

I swallow, exhaustion turning my voice rough. “That’s what we want. The minute they show up, we finish this. On our terms.”

He studies me with a conflicted glimmer in his molten gaze. “You vow to find a way that spares your life, but…” He trails off, tension swirling. “Promise you’ll fight to live, Valentina, no matter how dire it gets.”

My chest twists. “I promise,” I whisper, though a kernel of fear remains. If the vow truly demands my life, will I be able to resist that arcane pull? My fists clench.I’ll try.

A hush falls as the watery light in the dais chamber dims. Dusk creeps into the broken spire overhead, painting the marsh sky in bruised purple. The ruined columns cast twisted shadows. My heart thuds in unsteady rhythm, adrenaline fueling my mind. We’re on the verge of a final confrontation. We’ve decided to wage war on prophecy and monarchy alike.

Malphas shifts, pressing a large hand over my bruised wrist. His horns lower, voice quieter. “I wish we had more time… or a less savage path. But if this is how we break my chains, then I stand with you.”

A wave of warmth stirs behind my ribs. I cling to that closeness, the knowledge that for better or worse, we face fate together. “We’ll stand or fall side by side.”

He nods, tail curling around my ankle, a silent gesture of solidarity. The battered dais, slick with algae and monster blood, might be our final battleground. A place to defy everything.

No illusions, no catacombs, no fortress. Just me, an Abyssborn descendant defying the prophecy, and Malphas, a demon shackled by an oath he hates. We vow to tear down fate itself if necessary. My lungs fill with the marsh’s humid air, and I exhale, bracing for the monarchy’s arrival. It could be hours or days, but they will come. They always do.

I glance at Malphas’s wounded thigh, the dried scabs across his shoulder. The vow might lash him again if the King tries to summon him. But if we’re quick—if I harness the Wildspont—I can unbind him before the monarchy forcibly drags him back.If I fail, my life for his… or maybe we both die under the monarchy’s blades. A chilling possibility, but I refuse to quake under it.

I stand from the arch, stepping onto the dais’s center. Placing my palm on the altar stone again, I feel that electric hum, responding to my half-demon lineage. My heart leaps with a mixture of excitement and terror. “We’re ready,” I say softly. “Whenever they come, we face them.”

Behind me, Malphas rises, wings flexing, illusions dancing over his claws in dark ribbons. “Yes,” he replies, voice rumbling. “We fight for more than survival now. We fight for the right to write our own fate.”

In that moment, the sun sinking, the runes glimmering, the marsh’s shadows lengthening—I realizethisis the vow that truly matters: not the monarchy’s chain, but our oath to each other to shatter destiny’s chains. My heart pounds with a heady mixture of dread and fierce resolve. We might break every rule, rewrite every prophecy. Or we might die in a swirl of illusions and blood. But at least it’ll be our choice.

I lift my gaze to the darkening sky, letting the electricity in the air raise goosebumps on my arms. “Let them come,” I say, voice echoing off the watery walls. “We’ll greet them with steel and sorcery.”

Malphas’s low laughter rumbles, an edge of savage anticipation in it. “So be it.” He takes position near the dais’s perimeter, illusions shimmering around him like flickering starbursts. He’s battered, battered worse than I’ve ever seen. Yet his presence radiates unstoppable power.

This is our leap of faith. I press my hand to the altar, forging that final path forward.No more waiting.If the monarchy wants to kill me, they’ll have to tear down the entire ruin. If the prophecy demands my life, I’ll feed it the Wildspont’s raw might instead. I vow it.

Steeling my shoulders, I watch the first flickers of arcane light swirl around the dais. Malphas manipulates illusions, forming a faint shell of protective wards. My heart pounds, tears stinging my eyes as I remember everything we endured.I won’t let them end this story in tragedy.We might be battered, but we’re not beaten.

Let them come, I think again, adrenaline coursing. We stand on the brink of a final confrontation with destiny, monarchy, and prophecy alike. My lungs burn, each breath an affirmation. The dark elves might be unstoppable, the vow unbreakable, the prophecy absolute—but I’m done bowing to doom. I choose life, I choose Malphas’s freedom, and I choose to shape my own fate.

Wind howls across the marsh as night falls in earnest. My illusions swirl out, searching for incoming threats. Malphas tenses, sensing an approach. A final hush descends, so silent I hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. The gloom of the ruin encloses us, runes flickering under the watery reflection.

We wait, hearts aligned in defiance, ready to challenge every law that says we can’t survive. This is the next part in our war against destiny. No matter what horrors tomorrow brings, I have chosen my path: I will break the monarchy, break the vow, and still live. Let the entire realm witness the day a half-demon Abyssborn rewrote prophecy for the sake of a demon’s freedom.

Malphas meets my gaze from across the dais, a spark of fierce pride in his exhausted eyes, as if he can read the conviction roaring inside me. Slowly, he inclines his head, acknowledging me as more than a mortal. We share a fleeting smile—a silent promise that we’ll face the monarchy’s darkness side by side. My chest swells with determination, and I clench my fists, bracing for the storm.

Ready or not, we have set the stage for our final stand.

16

MALPHAS

Adull ache throbs behind my ribs, reminding me of every vow and betrayal that has led to this point. I straighten my shoulders, wings twitching as the final vestiges of the illusions swirl around my claws. I’m weary down to my bones, yet my heart hammers with a fierce determination I haven’t felt in centuries. This is where we make our stand—or so I tell myself—and I refuse to kneel before the monarchy ever again.

We’re perched at the edge of a massive ravine, gazing upon a sprawling ritual site that the dark elves built ages ago—their grand temple to the Deceiver, or so the rumors say. Towers and spires of obsidian stone rise like razors, each carved with twisting serpents. Runes glimmer in labyrinthine patterns across the courtyard below, forming perfect circles meant to funnel magic. Every corner hums with a low, malevolent pulse. My horns bristle at the presence of so much arcane might, carefully shaped for the monarchy’s advantage. Even from this distance, I sense the wards they’ve laid—clever layers of entrapment designed to keep me caged or to siphon my illusions away.

Valentina crouches beside me, slender form coiled in tension. The wind teases strands of her dark hair from beneath her hood. Her silver eyes glow with an unwavering resolve that contradicts her battered appearance: deep bruises shadow her cheekbones, her arms bear half-healed cuts from our last skirmishes, and her clothes are ripped in more places than I can count. Yet she stands unbowed, gloved hands clutching her short sword. The half-lost demon ancestry thrums in her blood, igniting a glimmer of power around her that even I can sense.

“These wards,” she murmurs, voice low to avoid echoing. “They look… stronger than anything we’ve faced.” She nods at the swirling glyphs etched into the temple’s basalt walls, each faintly shimmering with protective sigils. “Are you sure we can breach them?”

A faint snarl curls my lip. The vow in my chest surges, reacting to my rebellious thoughts, but I suppress the pain. “I’ve spent centuries weaving illusions that rival the monarchy’s best wards. I might not break them all, but I can disrupt enough to force an opening. We only need an instant’s advantage.” My voice quivers with more confidence than I feel.If I doubt myself, we’re doomed before we begin.