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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

IRENE

T he explosion tore through the air like a thunderclap, a shockwave of fire and sand slamming into Irene. The force sent her to her knees, choking on smoke, her vision blurred with grit and chaos.

Screams rang out—orders, war cries, the clash of steel. The scent of blood and burning drifted in the air like a curse.

Her crew surged forward, charging across the beach, their faces twisted in rage. The Amorians, smaller but unrelenting, fought with the fury of a people who refused to die alone. The Eldorians met them head-on, gold and steel gleaming in the firelight.

The beach had become a battlefield.

Irene’s breath came sharp and ragged as she squinted, searching through the wreckage, eyes darting over the chaos. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the chaos.

"Jace… Jace?" she whispered, disoriented. Where is he?

Her eyes locked onto him through the blur of bodies. He was struggling, his limbs thrashing as Commander Roderick dragged him away. Jace’s frantic gaze found hers. His lips parted, a desperate hand reaching for her. “No!” Irene’s scream was swallowed by the storm of battle. Her hands shot up, pushing her damp hair behind her ears. She exhaled sharply, bracing herself, and ran.

A soldier lunged, blocking her path. Irene dived, slipping under his legs, rolling across the bloodstained sand. Her fingers groped blindly for a weapon—anything.

Her hands found cold steel. A fallen soldier’s sword.

She ripped it free, her grip tightening around the hilt as she pushed herself to her feet.

Two Eldorians charged. She didn’t hesitate. The first fell with a blade through his ribs. The second barely had time to register his comrade’s death before she turned the sword on him—fast, ruthless, final. Blood sprayed warm across her face. She didn’t blink. The wind howled in her ears as she sprinted. So close. Just a few more feet.

Then it happened. A soldier’s helmet slammed into Jace’s skull with a sickening crack. Irene watched in horror as his body went limp before it even hit the ground, collapsing onto the sand near the jagged rocks. Her heart stopped. “No—no, no, no!” Her voice broke. Irene hesitated for an instant too long.

A soldier wrenched the sword from her grasp and sent it clattering across the sand. Pain cracked through her skull as his fist slammed into her face and her ribs. She hit the ground hard.

She gasped, forcing herself to rise. Her hands were empty, she had no weapon. The soldier loomed over her, blade raised high.

This was it. Irene was going to die. The world slowed, her heartbeat a deafening drum. Her body refused to move. Her mind emptied. She had nothing left. A blade plunged through the soldier’s throat. Flesh tore. A wet, sickening thud. The body collapsed before her. Irene barely had time to blink before she saw him.

Dax was standing over the corpse, chest heaving, blade slick with blood. The battlefield roared around them, but between them, there was only silence. Irene’s pulse thundered as she stared at him, her lungs dragging for breath. Dax had saved her. But her gaze darted to his hand, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword, the blood still fresh. Had he saved her... or was he about to finish her?

And then, Dax dropped his sword. It hit the ground with a dull clang. Dax met her eyes, his grey-blue gaze burning into hers like a cold flame. A silent understanding passed between them—a decision made in an instant, without words, without hesitation. He nodded. She nodded back. They turned to Jace, and as if pulled by the same unseen force, they ran low and fast, bodies hunched, weaving through the storm of steel and fire. At the same time, they lifted him, their bodies straining under his weight. Irene’s shoulder burned, but she bit down on the pain. Dax adjusted his grip, and for the first time in what felt like forever, they moved as one.

Ahead of them, the Mountain of the Four Winds loomed, monstrous and waiting. An abomination. A blight against nature itself. Its jagged peaks clawed at the sky, as if trying to rip the heavens apart. The wind shrieked around it, like the voices of the damned, whipping violently as if the mountain itself was warning them to turn back. Thick clouds curled over its slopes.

Its stone was not gray, not black, but something between, a ghostly shimmer of blue, shifting under the light. Its surface was fractured, riddled with deep, gaping crevices. And despite the blazing sun, a bone-deep chill emanated from it, freezing them even from here. Irene and Dax exchanged a look. They tightened their grip on Jace, their arms locked under his weight, and together, they walked toward the mountain.

It was foretold. They were bound by the same scars, forged in the same storm, shaped by the same treacherous tides. No forgiveness. No peace. Just the unbearable weight of everything they couldn't let go. Dax hadn’t spared her out of mercy, just as she hadn’t spared him out of regret. Their lives were ruin locked in possession—her destruction was his obsession, and his ruin was hers.

And as they walked together toward the mountain, Irene understood what they had always known: Whatever this final trial demanded, it would be theirs alone.

No crews. No allies. No world. Just the two of them.

Because no matter the years, the betrayals, the hatred— they were still the same two children who had met long ago, shaped by the same sea that drowned them, and yet always brought them back to each other.