"Aiden!"
Arina's voice broke against the echo. "Aiden, you idiot, get back here!"
No answer. Only the low hum of dying magic, the smell of ash and dragonfire clinging to her tongue.
She took a staggering step forward, her boots crunching over shattered sigils, through the black dust that once glowed with wardlight. Somewhere behind her, Amber called too, her voice smaller, rawer, pleading through the ruin.
"Aiden! You're still hurt! Come back!"
The words echoed, swallowed by the vast, broken hall. Arina's jaw tightened. Her eyes stung—not from the smoke, not from the fire, but from the ache of helplessness.
She had fought beasts that could split mountains. She had killed men who thought themselves gods. But the thought of losing him—that reckless, stubborn boy who always smiled before stepping into hell—felt like losing the last bit of light left in the world.
She cursed under her breath. "Stupid, stupid, stupid…"
Then the air shifted.
