The world wasn’t broken. It was ending. The sky had no color anymore—just white fire ripping through the black like torn silk, bleeding stars that burned and died in the same breath. Mountains weren’t mountains; they were teeth breaking through the skin of the earth, jagged and glowing, vomiting rivers of molten stone that devoured forests and cities in a heartbeat. And at the center of it all— The god. Not Kael. Not the Warlord. Not anymore. It wore his bones like ornaments. Wore his blood like jewels. Its skin was smoke and night and knives. Its eyes— Gods. Its eyes were holes cut through the world, and behind them was nothing but hunger. Hunger and laughter. And Kael— Kael was on his knees in the ash, head bowed like he’d already accepted the truth: That this wasn’t a fight anymore. It was an execution. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Veyra’s voice was silk on glass, soft and cruel as she stepped to my side, her gown trailing like oil through the ruin. “The end of a rotte
Kael didn’t fight like a man anymore. He fought like a wound. Like something raw and bleeding and endless, a storm of ruin wrapped in skin and shadow. Every strike of his blade was a scream that never left his throat, every burst of black fire a promise that if he couldn’t have the world, he’d burn it out of spite. And the Warlord— Gods, he didn’t bow. Didn’t break. Didn’t stop grinning through broken teeth and rivers of blood as he met Kael blow for blow. Two monsters tearing the world apart. And me— Caught between them— Holding the one thing that could end them both. The ground split like glass under their feet. Mountains buckled. The sky wasn’t a sky anymore—just a whirl of gold and black and fire, bleeding light that stung my eyes and scorched my lungs. And through it all, the blade pulsed in my grip, faster now, louder now, until I couldn’t tell if the beating in my hands was the weapon or my heart. Take it, the whispers hissed. Take it and end this. One swing. O
He said my name like a prayer. Like a curse. Like something he was already breaking. And gods help me— For a heartbeat that hurt like knives in my chest— I wanted to believe it was still him. That Kael was in there somewhere. That the man who swore he’d burn the world before he’d let it take me was more than ash and shadow and hunger now. But when I looked at him— At the smile that curved his mouth like he was tasting the end of everything— At the black fire crawling up his arms like chains— At the eyes that weren’t gold anymore but a storm of void— I knew. It wasn’t Kael. Not anymore. The whispers coiled tighter in my head, sweet as poison, dark as midnight tides: Say yes. Take it. End this. You’re not strong enough without it. You never were. The blade pulsed in my grip, black light crawling like veins under my skin, burning and cold all at once. Power. Enough to kill him. Enough to save him. If saving him meant ending him. “Choose,” Kael said again, voice like
Kael smiled at me. And it was wrong. Because Kael’s smile had always been sharp, had always held that edge like he was laughing at a joke no one else could hear. This wasn’t that. This was soft. Empty. Like nothing mattered anymore. Not me. Not him. Not the world. The bond screamed again, a raw, tearing sound inside my head, inside my bones, inside everything I was— And then it wasn’t screaming. It was silent. “No.” The word cracked out of me, harsh and broken as I stumbled forward, fingers clutching the blade Veyra had shoved into my hand like it was the last thread holding me together. “Kael,” I whispered, because I couldn’t scream anymore, because screaming wouldn’t reach him. “Don’t do this. Please—don’t.” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at me. His eyes slid past me—past everything—as if the world had narrowed to a single point, and that point was the Warlord. Who was laughing. Even as molten blood dripped from his mouth, even as Kael drove him back, strike
The valley was gone. Just gone. Where the trees had stood, there was nothing but black glass. Where the warspawn had crawled, there was only dust curling like smoke. And in the center— Kael. If you could still call him that. Because the man I knew—the man who laughed too sharp, who kissed like he was starving, who swore he’d never be a god— He wasn’t standing there anymore. Something else was. The power wasn’t around him. It was him. A storm wearing his skin. A wound in the world, bleeding light that wasn’t light at all. And the worst part—the part that made my breath stick in my throat— Was that he looked calm. Not cold. Not cruel. Just calm. Like everything burning around him was exactly the way it was supposed to be. The Warlord rose out of the crater Kael had driven him into, molten blood dripping from cracks in his obsidian armor. And he was smiling. “Better,” he rumbled, shaking dust from his bone crown. “So much better.” Kael didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
I didn’t run. Even when Kael said it like a prayer. Even when the ground shook so hard the trees cracked like bones. I stayed. Because that’s what the bond does. It roots you. Chains you to someone else’s ruin even when your own body screams to move. And gods help me, some part of me wanted to stay. Not because I trusted him. Not after the fire that burned out of his skin when he killed that thing. But because if I turned my back now, if I ran— He wouldn’t just break. He’d become whatever that power was, and I’d never get him back. The thing stepped through the smoke. And the world bent. I felt it in my teeth first, a sharp hum like glass grinding on glass. Then in my bones, like every joint wanted to tear apart. And Kael— Kael froze. Not like a man facing death. Not like a man afraid. Like a man seeing something he’d bled half his life to forget. The Warlord smiled. If you could call it that. It was all teeth and molten light leaking through the cracks in his