The cabin was silent, except for the fire crackling in the hearth. Elena sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling, golden light flickering faintly beneath her skin.
Miles stood to her left, tense and watchful.Dorian leaned against the wall near the door, arms crossed, his eyes never leaving her.
"You were out for three days," Miles said finally, voice low. "Whatever happened to you in that clearing—"
"I remember," Elena whispered. "Not all of it. But enough."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Dorian asked. His voice was softer than usual, almost reverent. "You saw who I was. Who we were."
Elena nodded, slowly. "Yes. And I saw what you gave up for me."
Miles looked between them, his jaw tight. "Elena, don't do this. Whatever you saw—it was a lie. A dream. You don't owe him anything."
"You're wrong," she said quietly. "It wasn't just a dream. It was a memory."
"You don't know what he's capable of," Miles snapped. "You only saw his side. What about all the people he's hurt? All the blood on his hands?"
"And you think you're innocent?" Dorian shot back. "You've been manipulating her from the start. Hiding what she is. Keeping her weak so she wouldn't see the truth."
"I was protecting her!" Miles barked.
"No," Dorian said, stepping forward, his shadows flaring. "You were protecting yourself. Because you're afraid. Afraid that once she remembers everything, she won't choose you."
A crack split the air as the fire surged and the floorboards rattled under Elena's feet.
"Enough!" she cried, and her voice wasn't just hers—it was layered with power, with divinity. Both men froze.
The light from the hearth bent toward her, as if drawn to her heartbeat. The shadows, too, circled her feet in tendrils of smoky black. Fire and darkness. Miles's magic. Dorian's nature.
And hers… something that commanded both.
"I'm not your prize to fight over," she said, rising slowly. "I'm not some relic, some prophecy, some tool."
"Elena…" Miles said, reaching for her.
She held up a hand. "No. You say you love me, Miles. Then let me stand on my own. Let me decide who I am."
She turned to Dorian. "And you… you've waited lifetimes. But that doesn't mean you own my future."
Dorian's lips parted slightly, his usual arrogance replaced by something deeper. Pain. Regret. Devotion.
"I don't want to own you," he said. "I want to stand beside you. Always."
She looked between them.
Then she said, "The Devourer is waking. I saw it. Felt it. If we don't stop it, none of this matters."
Miles stepped forward. "Then let's stop it. Together."
For a moment, the three of them stood in an uneasy triangle.
Fire. Shadow. Light.
The old gods were stirring. The end was coming.
And Elena was done running.