The wind was sharp atop the bridge of stars, cutting like whispers from the void below. The obsidian spire loomed ahead—close enough to see the flames flickering from its summit, but far enough that each step still felt like a question waiting to be answered. Beneath them, the stars churned like a sea of dying gods.
Kael walked slightly ahead, his silhouette outlined in pale firelight. Elyra followed, her hands clenched, every heartbeat louder than it should've been. Vespera lingered behind them both, silent as always, but watching—always watching.
It had been days since the Archive fractured. Days since the visions that carved them open and stitched them back together with thread made of ash. The memory of that place clung to them like a second skin—tight, suffocating, and impossible to shed.
Kael hadn't spoken much since then. But Elyra had noticed the change.
He walked like a man who had seen the edge of his soul and wasn't sure if he liked what looked back.
She wanted to say something. Anything. But words felt brittle, useless against the weight of what lay between them.
"Kael," she called softly.
He slowed. Didn't turn. "You shouldn't walk so close to the edge."
"I'm not afraid of falling."
"You should be."
There was something in his voice that made her heart clench. Not anger. Not warning. Something more fragile. Fractured. Like he wasn't just talking about the drop beneath them.
"You're pushing me away," she said, stepping closer despite herself. "Ever since the Archive."
He finally turned. His eyes weren't cold this time. Just tired.
"I saw what I could become, Elyra."
"And I saw myself burning everything I loved. You're not the only one haunted by what might be."
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before catching himself. His hand hovered, then dropped.
"I don't know how to be close to someone without breaking them."
Elyra stepped forward, closing the space.
"Then maybe let me choose whether I break."
Kael stared at her. The flames from the spire caught the gold in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked like a star refusing to fall.
"I've always been afraid," he admitted, voice low. "Not of battle. Not of death. But of needing someone."
"You already do," she whispered.
Silence. Just the stars. The wind. The slow thunder of their hearts.
"I want to protect you," he said.
"Then stay."
Kael's hand found hers. Tentative. Uncertain.
But he didn't let go.
They stood like that for a while. Breathing in time, fire and frost trembling between them.
Then Elyra asked, "What did you see, really? In the Archive?"
Kael hesitated. "Myself. On a throne. Crowned in fire, the world at my feet. And no one beside me. Not even you."
She swallowed. "Maybe that's the future we fight not to become."
"And if we fail?"
Elyra leaned into him, resting her forehead against his. "Then at least we burned trying."
His grip on her hand tightened. Just slightly. But it was enough.
The silence stretched long after that, but it wasn't empty. It held them—fragile, but together.
Until a whisper brushed Elyra's ear.
Not wind.
Not memory.
A voice.
"Kael," she breathed, pulling away.
His eyes flicked up. Cold steel once more. "I heard it too."
They turned toward the spire. Toward the fire that danced too eagerly, too alive. Something was waiting there.
Behind them, Vespera moved swiftly, a dagger drawn. She'd heard it too.
And then came the scream.
Not human. Not beast.
Something older.
The flames at the top of the spire surged, taking shape. Eyes. Claws. Wings made of smoke and fury. The remnant of a drake once sealed by the Pale Flame, now roused by their presence.
Kael drew his blade. "We can't run from this."
"No," Elyra said. Her voice steady, even as the thing shrieked again. "We face it together."
And they did.