Page 83 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

The device stands. Silent, waiting. The harmonic pulses quiver in the air, the heat reading clearer, the energy humming like an animal roused.

I breathe too fast. My heart echoes.

Kyldak reaches for the doorway, his armor dust-caked, his hands steady. He glances at me.

“It’s yours,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “No. This is ours.”

I stare. He’s reluctant yet fierce. I can taste the truth behind his restraint.

He steps closer. “You came here risking everything for a dream. I may not understand it all—but I follow you.”

My throat closes.

I say nothing.

He half-smiles. Sad, hard. “We cross that threshold together—or not at all.”

I bite my lip, wet with fear and longing.

We push the arch open. The coils inside flicker, light tripping across the chamber. Energy arcs. The room vibrates. The hum becomes a roar, a chord. The air tastes electric. My bones resonate.

Kyldak braces. I take a step forward.

But then we hear it—behind us. Shouts. Footsteps. Raiders screaming. The ruins quake.

I look at him. “They followed us.”

He curses. “Get back — positions!”

We spin. Shadows shift. Blades flash. Raid warclans burst into the chamber, drawn by the rumors, the tales, the ghost stories of witch tech and golden warlords.

Kyldak roars, charging forward. I raise the scanner as shield, fire a pulse from my side rig. Sparks fly. The harmonic machine hums, reacting. The energy flares briefly, stunning one raider in the doorway.

Kyldak slashes through them—muscles straining, armor scorched, jaw clamped. I dive sideways, pulling cables and diversion pulses. I loathe that I’m fighting—not for theory, not for escape—but to defend this moment.

He fights beside me. And when I gasp, he catches my hand. Our eyes lock in the chaos.

We push them back, raiders falling, the resonant coils singing in welcome of our survival.

When last foe falls, silence crashes. The device’s hum soothes, quiets. The wires shimmer.

Kyldak’s panting. Blood on his cheek. His armor cracked. His chest rising.

He turns to me.

“You were right.” He says it again, softer—but heavier.

I don’t answer.

He steps closer, breath ragged. His voice cracks: “You still won’t tell me why you came.”

I look at the arch, their coils alive, the glow dancing across his face. My heart hammers.

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.

For now, I whisper, “Because I had to.”