The first thing she knew was pain.
Not fire. Not the wild hunger of the mark clawing at her ribs. But aching, bone-deep, human pain. Her body was lead, her chest raw, her skin a map of wounds.
Aria's eyes opened to pale light breaking through smoke. Dawn had grown brighter, spilling gray and gold over the clearing. The battlefield lay still, though the stillness was not peace, it was the silence of ruin.
She lay in the ash, Kael's weight warm against her side. His breathing was shallow, his skin hot where the fire had kissed him. She reached for him then froze.
Her wrists burned.
Slowly, she turned them. There, against soot-streaked skin, lay faint marks, bands etched in light. Like shackles. The very same chains she had seen in the void.
Her breath caught. Victory had followed her back, but so had the chains.
"Aria"
