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15

CALLA

I stand at the precipice of House Vaerethis, my heart pounding so loudly I fear the sentries on the walls can hear it. The air tastes of dust and old magic, drifting from the ancient stones that have witnessed centuries of cruelty. Even with my eyes lost to darkness, I sense the looming spires overhead, the vast expanse of towers and courtyards that once spelled my doom. My bandaged gaze faces a fortress I can’t see but know all too well. And by my side, Daeva’s grip steadies me—a silent reminder that I don’t face this horror alone.

We’ve chosen not to skulk through crumbling catacombs or scale forgotten walls. That might have been our plan if we were whole and uninjured. But I’m blind, and his wounds are still raw. Besides, the House demanded our presence, holding my friends as leverage. They expect us. So we approach through the main gate, footsteps echoing in the courtyard’s hush, fully aware we step into a den of vipers.

The drawbridge is lowered, the tall iron portcullis open. Guards stand to either side—dark elves in gleaming black-and-maroon armor, bearing the Vaerathis crest. I hear their sharp intakes of breath when they see Daeva, sense their tension in the quiet shift of weapons. We walk slowly, my fingers clutching Daeva’s arm. The midday sun glares down—if I could see, I’m sure I’d find the courtyard bathed in harsh light, silhouettes of spires cutting the sky.

Two days. That’s how long it took us to limp our way here after leaving the abandoned hut, battered but determined. A day earlier than their ultimatum demanded. Better to catch them off-guard. My heart still seizes at the memory of the endless miles, stumbling across forests and hills, guided only by Daeva’s voice. Even he, despite his demon-borne endurance, grew weaker with every passing night. But we came. Because my friends remain in House Vaerathis’s dungeons, and because we refuse to let the ancient tyrant twist our fates any longer.

A guard steps forward, clearing his throat. “We have orders to escort you,” he says, voice taut. I hear the faint ring of chainmail as he shifts, glancing nervously at Daeva. “Follow me, demon.” His tone tries for authority but wavers.

Daeva bristles, and I sense the darkness coil in his chest. He loathes being addressed like some beast, but he inclines his head in a tight nod. “Lead,” he spits. His hand tightens over mine in a protective gesture.

We move into the fortress interior, footsteps echoing on polished marble floors. The corridors smell of incense and old stone, familiar scents that make my skin crawl. I used to scrub these very floors, I recall with a shudder, a slave among many. My breath trembles, but Daeva’s presence anchors me.

Eventually, the guard halts before a set of ornate double doors. “You’ll wait in here,” he says. His voice shudders just a fraction. “The Lady—she’ll come.”

Daeva snorts softly. I hear the soft squeak of hinges as the doors swing open. We step inside, and the guard retreats hastily. A dull thud signals the doors shutting behind us.

I exhale, my stomach twisting. “Where… are we?”

Daeva’s voice, low and tense: “A reception hall. Smaller than the great entrance chamber, but still gilded with trophies and tapestries.” His tone drips contempt. “Vaerathis showing off their spoils.”

I clench my fists. My friends might be rotting in some dungeon while we stand in a hall designed for pomp. I grip Daeva’s arm. “I want to see them—my friends. That’s our first demand.”

He squeezes my hand lightly. “We’ll push for it. But be ready… they might deny us or use them as bargaining chips.”

A wave of anxiety floods me, but I swallow it down. My ears prick at the faint rustle of robes—someone approaching across the polished floor. Daeva tenses, bracing. I feel the swirl of magic in the air, a faint hush that suggests a powerful presence. A matriarch? An elite?

“Welcome back… demon,” a woman’s voice purrs, resonant with arrogance. “And you, dear mortal.” I recognize that condescending tone from countless nights of forced servitude. A Vaerathis noble. “You took your time.”

My heart clenches. She must be one of the House’s leading figures. “Where are my friends?” I demand, trying to steady my shaky voice despite the tremor in my limbs.

She laughs lightly, a cruel sound. “Safe. For now. You’ll see them soon enough—depending on how cooperative you are.” She steps closer, heels clicking on the marble. “So, this is the creature who freed our dear demon from the mirror?” A pause. I feel her gaze on my bandages. “Ah, how tragic. You’ve gone and lost your eyes.” Her fake sympathy drips with malice. “I suppose that’s the price for meddling in dark powers beyond your station.”

Rage boils in my gut. Calm, I remind myself, though I long to hurl shadows at her smirking face. My teeth grit. “I want to see them. Now.”

She gives a theatrical sigh. “All in due time. But first, come. Our Lady awaits your presence. She has… plans for you.” Her voice twists on the word “plans,” sending a chill up my spine. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer we toss your friends into the fire pit tonight.”

Daeva snarls softly. I press a hand to his chest, calming him. “Fine,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “Take us.”

A flutter of cloth, and the noble woman pivots. “Follow me, demon and mortal. Don’t stray.”

She leads us through winding passages. I focus on the click of her heels, the whiff of scented oils that swirl around her. My mind reels with memories of these corridors. Even without sight, I recall turning left at the statue of some long-dead Vaerathis champion, or stepping over a mosaic that used to be my assigned cleaning station. I used to cower here. Now, even blind, I walk upright, refusing to show fear.

At last, we reach another set of doors that groan on ancient hinges. A hush of cold air greets us, laced with incense. My stomach twists—this smell reminds me of the catacombs, of ceremonies and spells that echo with suffering. The woman steps aside, mocking courtesy.

We enter a vast chamber—call it a ritual hall or a throne room, I’m not certain. I feel the chill press in around me, sense an open space echoing with each footstep. Tension bristles in the bond between Daeva and me.

Then a voice—familiar in its cruelty—floats across the silence. “Ah, there you are.”

Ice floods my veins. Lord Kaelith. My old tormentor, the sadistic scion of House Vaerathis, or perhaps one of them. The one who relished punishing me for the slightest perceived disobedience. My fists clench involuntarily.

The woman guide answers, “Yes, my Lord. They came willingly, as expected.”

A short laugh. Kaelith’s voice carries across the hall. “Willing? Hardly. They reek of desperation.” Footsteps draw near. I shrink back, trembling. Daeva’s presence steadies me, his hand on my shoulder. “My dear mortal, how you’ve changed,” Kaelith murmurs, voice lilting with sadistic amusement. “And you—demon. Tsk. You look worse for wear.”

Daeva growls, low and dangerous. “Get on with it,” he spits. “We know you hold her friends. Show them, or?—”

“Or you’ll do what?” Kaelith cuts in, mocking. “Kill more of our messengers? You’re in Vaerathis now, demon. You can’t simply slaughter your way through these corridors.” He claps his hands once. “Guards! Bring the prisoners.”

My heartbeat lurches. My friends. At last, heavy footsteps, chains rattling. I strain my ears, desperate to hear their voices. Then a shuffle of movement, muffled curses. The door bangs open again, and the scraping of metal shackles echoes. My breath catches at a ragged cough that sounds like Silas. Another voice, maybe Cole, muttering in pain.

My chest tightens. “Let them go,” I plead, voice wavering.

Kaelith snorts. “That depends on your cooperation. We have big plans for the demon and his mortal tether. My master awaits the final ceremony. You’ll attend it. Willingly. Or watch these pitiful humans die.”

A spike of fury. Daeva’s aura flares. But we can’t lash out blindly. My friends are too vulnerable, and I can’t see, can’t fight effectively. We must be strategic. I grit my teeth.

Kaelith continues, languidly. “You see, the old master’s had… developments. He grows stronger, close to reclaiming his youth, so long as we secure the demon’s essence. And you , dear mortal—” I sense him looming close, breath rancid with arrogance “—are key to keeping him in check. The bond you share. So you’ll do exactly as we say.”

Daeva bristles, voice taut with barely contained rage. “Never.”

Kaelith laughs, a cruel, hollow sound. “You’ll have no choice, demon.” He snaps his fingers. “Guards. Take them to the antechamber. Keep them under watch. The ceremony is in two days, at dawn. That’s all the time my master needs to… finalize preparations.”

Two days. My pulse thunder. Panic churns. We’re trapped. The guards close in around us, cold armor scraping. I hear Silas let out a muffled protest as he’s dragged away, presumably toward the dungeons again. My heart fractures. I can’t even see him, but I know he’s alive. We must rescue them. Daeva’s grip on my arm shakes with equal rage.

We’re ushered from the hall, forced down corridors. I concentrate on each step, refusing to stumble. Daeva breathes heavily, his tension radiating. The chain rattles as they clamp manacles on him—nothing magical, just thick iron. My mind reels. They fear he’ll lash out. They do the same to me, though the metal is smaller, enough to bruise my wrists. Cattle for slaughter. I swallow a sob.

At length, we arrive in a smaller chamber, the guards shoving us inside. The door slams, a bolt sliding home. I hear them station themselves outside, vigilant. The room is musty, the air stale. I flinch as Daeva tugs free from me, testing the iron bars on a window or perhaps a gate.

“Locked,” he mutters, frustration grinding in his throat. “We’re waiting for them to conduct a ritual. Damn them.”

My entire body trembles. “They said two days.” My breath hitches. “That’s too soon. We’re not ready.”

Silence from him, thick with dread. I sink onto what feels like a stone bench, pressing my chained hands to my bandaged eyes. The memory of my friends’ pained coughs replays in my head. We have so little time to rescue them, to sabotage this ritual. And I can’t see, which means Daeva must carry the brunt of any plan.

He paces, metal links clinking. “We must find a way out,” he murmurs, half to himself. “Or get to your friends before they move them to the altar. But how? Our injuries… my power is limited. They’ve wards all over this place.”

I exhale, summoning the flickers of courage I felt at the waterfall. “We can’t give up. Maybe we can exploit the House’s arrogance. They assume we’re helpless, that we’ll just wait. Could we trick them?” My voice shakes, but I cling to a thread of hope.

A bitter laugh from him. “Possibly. We have to be cunning. But first, we must endure these two days. If we can gather enough strength…” He trails off.

My fingers curl into the coarse fabric of my tunic. Time—two days. That’s all we have to find cracks in Vaerathis’s fortress. Or else the old master will seal his immortality with Daeva’s life and my soul as collateral. I must glean more from these visions. The thought sends a chill through me. I recall how the mirror-shard illusions battered me with glimpses of Daeva’s past. Perhaps there’s knowledge of the ritual in them.

I push the idea aside for the moment. Daeva needs calm. “Daeva,” I say softly, reaching out. He stiffens, then sets his chained hand on mine, letting out a ragged sigh. “We’ll find a way,” I promise again, forging confidence from desperation.

He bows his head, pressing our foreheads together. “I hope you’re right,” he murmurs, voice cracked. “I can’t lose you. Not after everything.”

My heart clenches. “Nor I you.”

The hours blur. Guards deliver stale bread and water, ignoring our questions about my friends’ condition. Daeva tries to bully them for answers, but they refuse to speak. We’re left in the cramped antechamber, wrists bound by chains bolted to the wall, forced to sit or pace in stifling silence. Occasionally, we doze fitfully, jolted awake by nightmares or the chill that seeps through stone walls.

On the second day—or what we guess is the second day—they come for us. I feel the clamp of hands on my arms, dragging me upright. Daeva roars a protest, but more guards pin him, forcing him along. We’re led—no, hauled —through labyrinthine corridors, the echo of distant chanting growing louder with each step. My stomach lurches. The ceremony is about to begin.

We reach a grand hall, so vast that my footsteps echo for seconds. My heart races at the memory of a prior battle I glimpsed in a vision. Perhaps this is the same place. The tang of incense and old blood scents the air. My bandaged eyes burn, tears of blood stinging anew as dread coils tight in my chest.

A hush falls over the assembled dark elves. I sense their presence like a suffocating weight—nobles, guards, and at the far edges, maybe silent observers. At the center, I hear the drip of water or a channel of some fluid, possibly from a ritual font. My head spins. Where are my friends?

Then Kaelith’s voice booms, mocking. “Welcome, demon, mortal. Our master has awaited you.”

Daeva snarls a curse. “Where are they? The humans you took?”

Laughter ripples in the chamber. A second voice, lower and rasping with age, answers: “Closer than you think.” My blood chills. This must be the old ancestor or someone channeling his will. “Fear not, they’ll witness the moment of my renewal.”

I brace, hearing metal gates clank open. Soft cries—my heart leaps. Silas, Cole, Ryn, Jenna? They must be shackled behind us, forced to watch. A jolt of relief that they’re alive, but heartbreak that they’re used as hostages.

Daeva’s aura flares with barely contained rage. “Release them,” he demands.

A snide chuckle from Kaelith. “In time, demon, once the ritual completes. We need them to ensure your cooperation.”

My teeth grind. Cooperation. The word reeks of irony. I’m jostled forward, stumbling on unseen steps. Then cold metal encircles my wrists anew, pinning me to an upright frame—some kind of pillar or post? My breath quickens. I hear Daeva’s grunt as he’s secured similarly. My mind reels with memories of the mirror’s sacrificial scene. Is this the same arrangement?

The chanting begins softly, a dozen voices murmuring in archaic elven. A hush of magic thrums, making my teeth ache. Daeva struggles, cursing in a voice edged with panic. We both sense this is it—the final stage of the House’s twisted plan. If the old master emerges, if the tether forces Daeva to surrender, we might be done for.

My pulse roars in my ears. The chanting crescendos, torch flames flickering in my peripheral sense. The motes of silver move behind my eyelids. Focus , I tell myself. Look for an opening. But I’m bound, powerless. The illusions swirl again—like the mirror shards responding to the ceremony. Pain flares in my eyes. The chanting resonates, vibrating the very floor. My heart lurches as I recall how Daeva was once sacrificed in a scene like this.

A hush, then a triumphant voice booms—Kaelith’s or some matriarch’s, I can’t tell. “Behold, the old master approaches. The demon stands ready, his mortal anchor at his side. Today, Vaerathis claims immortality!”

Thunderous footsteps approach. A presence washes over me like a tide of decay—ancient, cruel. My blood runs cold. The ancestor. I picture a withered figure half-lost to time, clinging to life through dark sorcery. The chanting intensifies. My stomach twists. He wants to fuse with Daeva’s essence or finalize the immortality he sought centuries ago.

Daeva growls in agony, head forced back by some invisible magic. I hear him gasp, “Calla—” but his words cut off in a choked cry. My heart seizes. They’re attacking him with spells, draining him. Furious, I strain against my bonds, wrists burning. “Stop!” I scream, voice swallowed by the chanting.

Kaelith laughs over the tumult, smug. “Yes, demon, give him your power.” Another voice—I guess the old ancestor—hisses like wind across a tomb: “Your contract with her moors you, but we’ll break that tether and harness it for my restoration…”

My head throbs with violent pain. The shards behind my eyes blaze, unleashing fresh visions: runes swirling, dark blood, the mirror cracking. I gasp as a memory engulfs me—Daeva, centuries ago, pinned to a stone slab, an older elf’s triumphant sneer, the swirl of runic scripts forging a link between them. They forced him once. Now they try again.

No. Through the haze, I recall Daeva’s vow: he’d break the contract, tear the old tyrant from his soul, even if it means his destruction. My tears leak hot, mixing with the illusions of shattered glass. I won’t watch him die. Summoning every ounce of will, I focus on the swirling silver in the dark, the echo of demonic power that flows through the bond. My body quakes.

“Stop hurting him!” I roar, letting the anger saturate my voice. “Let him go !”

A wave of chaos magic bursts from me, unexpected and wild. The chanting staggers momentarily, an outcry from the circle of priests. My wrists burn, but the chains screech under the strain of my unleashed power. Sparks crackle around me, fueled by the mirror’s shard-laden energy. The runes in the hall flicker. A brief hush falls.

But the House’s sorcerers recover quickly, chanting anew, forming wards that push back. My wave of shadow fizzles. I sag, panting. No, I think desperately, we need more. Daeva’s groans echo, each one ripping a piece of my heart. The ancestor’s presence looms ever closer, power swirling with unstoppable might. The ritual is nearly unstoppable.

“Calla,” Daeva chokes, voice raw. “I… have… to do it now…” He coughs, fighting unseen bindings. “I’ll break… our bond.”

Terror lances me. “No!” I protest. Because if he tears that bond forcibly, he might vanish, lost to the demon’s curse. “We’ll find another way!”

The chanting crescendos again, thunderous. Kaelith’s laugh resonates. “You can’t escape your fate, demon. Or you, mortal. The House will claim your essence.”

My entire body convulses with fury and anguish. The motes of silver swirl behind my blindfold, forming shapes—like runes etched in my mind. I sense Daeva’s demonic power roiling, building to a cataclysm within him. A final act of defiance. The air crackles.

Suddenly, a scream echoes across the hall. It’s not Daeva or me—it’s one of the elves. I hear a clang of metal. Another voice yells. The chanting stumbles. What’s happening?

Then I realize: behind us, near the entrance, a clamor of steel on steel. My heart leaps. Could it be my friends, freed from their shackles? Or some ally? The House’s focus breaks. The invisible force pinning Daeva lessens. He gasps, catching his breath.

“Now,” he rasps, summoning every scrap of demon power. “I’ll break the curse.”

“No,” I plead, but the swirl of magic around him intensifies. He’s ripping at the tether that binds him to the ancestor. The floor trembles. “Daeva, wait?—!”

A thunderous pulse of demonic energy explodes outward, hurling elves off their feet. I strain my ears, hearing them crash into pillars. The air sizzles with raw chaos. My metal shackles quiver. The ancestor screeches in fury, a hideous sound that resonates with ancient bitterness. My head pounds. If Daeva severs the bond incorrectly, we might both die on the spot.

Sparks shower from overhead. Stones crack. The shrieking swirl of power builds. Daeva howls in agony, fighting some invisible chain that tries to yoke him to the old elf. I sense the old tyrant’s dread, the House’s wards faltering under Daeva’s unstoppable surge.

My tears burn hot, words bursting from me. “Daeva! Let me help!”

He grits out a strangled reply, “I—can’t—let you be bound… no more cost…” The pain in his voice tears at me.

Then a new voice breaks in from behind—Silas? “Calla!” He sounds breathless, as if he’s wrested free. “Duck!”

I react on instinct, folding forward. A crossbow bolt zips overhead, missing me by inches. A swirl of boots on marble suggests my friends have come, possibly disarmed a guard. Cole, Ryn, and Jenna might be here too, battered but defiant. The Hall roars with confusion.

Elves scramble, half of them pinned by Daeva’s shockwave, others turning to face newly freed prisoners. A flurry of swords clashing resonates behind me. My heart thrums with hope. My friends are alive.

The ancestor’s presence looms again, a malevolent hiss. “Demon… you won’t break me,” he snarls. “I am your cradle of existence, your eternal anchor!”

Daeva roars in reply, forcing more chaotic energy into the tether. The floor buckles. The front of my shackles cracks under the strain. I pull, letting the shards in my eyes feed the power swirling in me. Another wave of shadows blasts outward, freeing me from the post. I stumble forward, arms free but useless without sight.

“Calla!” Silas’s voice calls, guiding me. I lurch toward him, nearly crashing into warm arms. Tears of relief surface. “Silas, you’re all right?”

He coughs, supporting me. “Battered but breathing,” he gasps. “We snatched a guard’s keys… had to make a stand.”

I cling to him briefly, then spin—my hearing locked on Daeva’s strangled groans. The hall quakes. A horrifying shriek echoes, half man, half ancient specter. The ancestor, presumably, stands at the heart of this maelstrom.

Without thinking, I run toward Daeva’s voice, Silas shouting behind me. The swirl of demonic magic is so thick it numbs my teeth. “Daeva!” I cry, voice cracking.

He’s at the center, presumably locked in a spectral struggle. The ancestor’s laugh keens, echoing off pillars. My mind conjures the image: a withered husk of an elf, connected to Daeva by a thread of black energy. If that tether breaks violently, we might lose him.

I can’t allow that. Summoning what remains of my newfound mirror-sight, I focus on the swirling silver in my darkness. A wave of insight hits me: I can guide the severing of the bond if I harness the shards correctly. Like a mirror reflecting back his curse.

“Daeva,” I whisper, stepping closer. My hand gropes, meeting the swirl of chaotic current. Pain lances me, but I push through, pressing my palm to his chest. I feel his heart racing. “Don’t do it alone,” I murmur. “Use me… my bond with you… let’s shape the magic, not destroy ourselves.”

He gasps, eyes flicking to me—though I can’t see, I sense the disbelief in his aura. “Calla— I can’t?—”

But we have no time. The ancestor howls, a surge of necrotic force slamming into Daeva. I thrust forward, letting the shards behind my eyes swirl, channeling the reflection. A wave of raw essence converges through me, meeting Daeva’s demonic might. We stand in the storm, forging an act of defiance.

The air crackles with unstoppable force. I hear Kaelith’s scream, the patter of fleeing elves. My mind reels as I reflect the ancestor’s power back at him, letting Daeva’s chaos meld with the mirror’s stolen visions.

An agonized shriek tears through the hall. The old tyrant’s voice cracks with sudden fear: “No… you can’t?—!”

A pillar collapses with thunderous noise. The floor lurches. My entire body burns, tears of blood coursing under the bandages. But I cling to Daeva, refusing to let him vanish. The bond hums with violent crescendo, threatening to unravel.

Then… release. A tidal wave of black and silver bursts outward, rattling the walls. Silence crashes in, thick and suffocating. I slump against Daeva, knees weak. The ancestor’s presence flickers, guttural curses trailing into nothingness. Is he dead? Is the bond severed?

My mind swirls. “Daeva?” I manage, chest heaving. “Are you…?”

He sags, gripping my arms. “I’m… here,” he gasps, voice unsteady. “I think— I didn’t vanish.”

Relief floods me, tears spilling. Our bond remains, a faint pulse. The old tyrant’s aura is gone or severely diminished, maybe sealed. We did it.

Footsteps approach. Silas’s voice, breathless with awe: “Calla… Daeva… you destroyed him?”

I can’t answer, too dizzy, blood trickling from my nose and eyes. Daeva breathes raggedly. “Could be… we severed his link.” He coughs, body shaking. “But Vaerathis is in chaos. We must get out before they regroup.”

A new swirl of footsteps—Cole, Ryn, Jenna perhaps. They gather around, chattering in relief. I sense them freeing me from any remaining chain, helping Daeva walk. The echo of crumbling stone and panicked elf voices fill the hall. Some flee; others lie unconscious. Kaelith is nowhere to be heard, possibly escaped or pinned under debris. Good riddance.

We stumble through the corridors. My friends guide me, Silas supporting my right side, Daeva leaning on Cole’s shoulder. The fortress reels under structural damage from the unleashed magic, walls shaking. The stench of burnt incense and fear saturate the air. We must escape.

At last, we reach the courtyard, battered and half-limping. The portcullis stands open, guards absent or too panicked to stop us. Daylight floods my bandages with a faint glow, though I still see nothing but black. The wind hits us, so fresh it nearly brings me to tears again.

We limp across the drawbridge, each step a victory over death. My knees wobble, exhaustion threatening to collapse me. Yet Silas and Daeva keep me upright. I can barely hear over the thunder of my heartbeat, but eventually we clear the fortress gates. The forest beckons, a sanctuary from this dreadful place.

We collapse in the shade of twisted pines, breathing in unison, ragged and broken. My bandaged eyes stream blood tears. Daeva cradles me, ignoring his own injuries. Silas, Cole, Ryn, and Jenna gather around, battered but alive, murmuring relief, exchanging stunned glances. We don’t speak much, all of us trembling with the aftermath.

At length, I rest my head on Daeva’s shoulder, hearing his heart still race. “It’s over?” I whisper, hardly believing. “Is he… truly gone?”

He inhales shakily. “The tether… I cut it, with your help.” A subdued wonder permeates his voice. “I don’t feel him anymore. The ancestor’s presence is… gone.”

Tears slip from my ruined eyes. We survived. My friends are safe. The old tyrant’s immortality snuffed out. I choke on a laugh that edges toward sobbing. “We did it,” I breathe.

Daeva’s arms tighten around me, voice trembling with unnameable emotion. “Yes. The contract might still exist between us, but the part binding me to him is shattered.” He cups my cheek. “You saved me, Calla… again.”

I bury my face against his neck, letting the relief wash over me in shuddering waves. My friends’ voices murmur reassurance, though I catch fragments of their concern—my eyes, our injuries, the uncertain future. But for now, we’ve broken Vaerathis’s hold. No more ritual. No more ancient tyrant looming in Daeva’s nightmares.

Night approaches swiftly, and we remain huddled at the forest’s edge, too exhausted to venture farther. My blindness remains, likely permanent. My entire body aches. But the weight of doom is lifted. I sense Daeva’s presence, free of that old malevolence. He’s still a demon, I’m still bound to him—but it’s our bond now, not some forced chain.

As the sun sets, painting the sky in colors I can’t see, I curl against him. My friends gather in a circle, sharing rations, relieved tears glinting in their voices. No words can express the miracle of surviving House Vaerathis. We’ll have questions, nightmares, regrets. But we’ll face them as free souls.

Gently, Daeva tilts my face up, pressing a soft kiss to my bandaged brow. The hush of twilight envelops us. My heart swells, remembering how we made love by the waterfall, the tenderness that anchored our final stand. We might be broken, but we stand together—no tyrant’s puppet strings controlling our fate.

He whispers in my ear, so softly only I hear: “I love you, Calla. This time, truly free.”

Tears slip down again, no longer only of pain. “I love you too,” I reply, voice quivering with both sorrow and joy. “And from now on… we shape our own destiny.”

I rest in his arms, the forest cradling us with a gentle breeze. The future remains uncertain—my eyes beyond repair, our bond steeped in demon magic—but we won a victory here. We shattered the old tyrant’s hold, saved my friends from unspeakable fates, proved that a mortal and demon can break the tapestry of a House that once enslaved us. There’s no going back to who we were before. But perhaps, in the aftermath, we’ll find a new beginning.

For now, the wind whispers through the pines, carrying the scent of distant rain. Daeva’s warmth sustains me in the darkness. And though I cannot see the stars, I feel their light on my face—like a promise that even broken eyes can witness a boundless sky, so long as love and hope guide us forward.