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DAIN

T he moment the air shifts, I know.

It’s here.

The stench of rot and ruin slides over my skin like oil, thick and cloying. The trees tremble, their branches twisting in unnatural angles. The shadows lengthen, creeping toward us with a hunger that isn't just felt, it's alive.

I shove Liora behind me.

"Stay close," I order, my voice rough, raw.

She barely reacts. Her body is stiff, her breath ragged. I don't need to turn around to see her wide eyes, her hands clutched at her temples. The thing is speaking to her. Whispering in that language.

"Amara."

Her gasp cuts through me like a blade.

My stomach drops.

I whip around, gripping her arms. "Don't listen to it."

She shudders, shaking her head, but something in her cracks open. The magic in her veins, I feel it surge, flickering between us like a tether being pulled too tight.

The presence presses in.

Shadows erupt, clawing through the air. I react on instinct, lunging, slicing through the darkness.

It splits apart. But it does not die.

It never dies.

Liora screams.

Not from pain. From something worse.

Her body jerks violently, her limbs trembling as her mind is dragged under. I feel it. The pull, the invasion, the suffocating force of memories that don’t belong to her.

Or maybe they do.

Because I see them too.

The past clashes into me like a war hammer to the chest.

The temple. The runes. The golden light flickering across stone.

My own voice, raw with betrayal, roaring through the hall.

A woman—standing before me, hands shaking, magic coiling around her fingers.

"Forgive me."

"I never wanted this."

"But you ? —"

Liora sobs.

The vision shatters.

I stagger, the force of it knocking me back. My heart thunders against my ribs, my claws aching from how hard I’m flexing them.

No.

No, no, no.

This is not Amara.

This is not then.

But the dark presence laughs.

Liora’s body bows forward. The shadows coil tighter, digging into her skin, her very essence. I lunge to rip her free.

She speaks.

A name.

A name that should have been buried. A spell.

"Vellrith."

My blood turns to ice.

The presence recoils.

The name strikes it like a hammer, the very air trembling under its weight. The shadows contort, writhing in agony, screeching so violently that my ears ring.

Liora collapses.

Blood spills from her nose. From her mouth. From her eyes.

"No."

I catch her before she hits the ground. Her body is limp, her breathing too shallow.

"Liora!"

She doesn’t respond.

Her pulse is weak, so gods-damned weak.

The presence shrieks once more, retreating into the abyss, vanishing into the trees. But I don’t care.

She isn’t breathing. She’s slipping away from me. Again.

I shake her, hard. My claws press against her chest, searching for her heartbeat, my own pulse hammering out of control.

"No, no, no ? —"

The bond between us still exists.

But it is faint. Flickering. Like a dying ember.

"Liora, wake up!"

Her fingers twitch.

A choked gasp escapes her lips.

My head snaps down. Her lashes flutter. The smallest, weakest breath leaves her mouth.

I nearly collapse on top of her.

She’s alive.

But just barely.

Her body shudders against mine. My wings fold around her, shielding her from the cold, from everything.

She whispers.

Not a name. Not a plea.

Just one, broken word.

"Dain."

A crack splits through me.

A wound that will never heal.

I don’t move. I just hold her.

Despite everything, despite my rage, my confusion, my need to destroy whatever magic binds us.

I cannot let her go.

Not now. Not in forever.