The halls of Ash'Var were not buildings—they were grown nightmares.
Shadows crawled along the walls like living veins. The floor was smooth, cold, transparent—beneath it wandered forgotten faces, lost in eternal torment. Screams echoed like originless echoes.
Saphira ran.
Blood dripped from a wound on her side. Her daggers trembled in her hands, but she did not let go. Behind her: two of her last shadow warriors. Ahead: the path to Shadow.
She had heard him scream. Not from pain—but from release.
"He's about to lose everything…" she whispered.
In the center of the halls—in the Chamber of the First Crown—the true war raged. Shadow, part human, part demon, stood opposite the king. Or rather, what he had become: a being of blades, bones, and memory, the body of a man corroded by the Void.
Shadow fought like a man unleashed. The demon blade howled. Each strike tore not only flesh but time itself—rifts in reality flickered through the air.
Saphira reached the hall. Her eyes met Shadow's. For just a moment.
He saw her—and hesitated.
The king took advantage. A chain of darkness snapped forward, shattering Shadow's flame armor and throwing him back.
He fell. His blade flew from his hand.
The king turned to Saphira.
"Your light disturbs me. You were always just a tool. The last piece of him I could not break."
The Void formed a spear—from Saphira's own memories. From the laughter of her childhood. From her mother's last song. From her father's blood.
He hurled it. Shadows held their breath.
And Saphira… stepped forward.
Not back. Forward.
Between Shadow and death.
The spear pierced her.
No time for words. No time for curses. Only a glance.
Shadow screamed—not a demon's scream. A human one. A broken one.
He crawled to her. Took her in his arms. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Only a breath. A last breath. And then: nothing.
Flames blazed in Shadow's hands—but he let them fall. Tears poured down his face, evaporating on his cheeks. The demon power trembled inside him—but he forced it down.
He laid Saphira gently down. The hall was silent. Even the king was quiet.
"She was the last reason I hesitated."
Shadow raised his blade. The blade no longer howled. It was silent. Black.
"Now I kill no longer for revenge.
Now I kill because you deserve nothing else."
He attacked.
A single strike cut through the air—ripped through the king's chest. But it was not the blow that killed him. It was the look. The look of a man who had nothing left to lose.
The Void screamed. Not from pain—but from fear.
Shadow stepped over his sister's corpse. Not from coldness. But because he knew: Only her death could bring the end.
"I will avenge you, Saphira.
Not with tears. But with fire."
The hall began to tremble. The Void called its last servants. But the Shadow King stood up—not angry anymore.
Only determined.