The shadows melted into shapes—Kaelen's memories, twisted and broken.
Lyra staggered as the bridge beneath her warped into scenes: flashes of Kaelen as a child, sparks flickering in his hands while frightened villagers recoiled; Kaelen alone in dark forests, fire his only companion; Kaelen standing before her the night they met, his smile faint but real.
But each image was cracked, distorted. The villagers didn't just fear him—they hated him, their eyes glowing like the chained presence. The forest fires consumed him rather than protected him. And the memory of their meeting blurred—her face replaced with an endless void.
"No…" Lyra whispered, clutching her chest. "That's not real. That's not him."
The Kaelen in front of her turned, eyes burning brighter. But they weren't warm flames. They were cold, hungry embers.
"You don't belong here," he said, voice hollow, a puppet of the chain. His blade—shaped from the void itself—appeared in his hand. "You're just another lie."
Lyra's heart twisted. "Kaelen, it's me. It's Lyra!"
But he attacked.
Steel and fire clashed in the void. Every strike he made was filled with fury, but beneath it she saw hesitation, like his soul was fighting against the chain's grip. Lyra parried, sparks scattering, refusing to strike him back.
"I won't fight you!" she cried.
The chained presence hissed, its voice rumbling through the void:
"Then you will lose him."
Kaelen pressed harder, his flame growing darker, hotter, until Lyra's arms shook under the weight of his strikes. He was burning himself away—and if she didn't act, the shadows would consume him completely.
Her molten blade quivered in her grip. The only way to break through might be to fight him. But if she struck too hard, she risked shattering what was left of his soul.
Tears burned her eyes as she whispered, "Forgive me, Kaelen…"
And for the first time, Lyra raised her blade not just to defend—but to fight for him.