The Tower shook as Nitron stepped into its heart.
Black sigils bled from his boots, crawling across the floor like veins of rot. The murals on the walls twisted in agony, faces of past vessels screaming as if their souls recognized him. The throne at the chamber's center pulsed in rhythm with his rage, its jagged crown of bone blazing with power.
Elma's veins burned white-hot, the shard pulsing so violently she could barely breathe. Every heartbeat was war. The Tower wanted her. The shard wanted him dead. And her body stood trembling between the two hungers.
Nitron spread his arms, his voice booming. "Do you see? This is the Tower that made me. The leash you think broken was forged here. You cannot defeat me in my own house. Not even the shard can save you."
Elma raised her chin, fire crawling along her arms. "Then I'll burn your house to the ground."
The shard screamed approval, light tearing through her veins until she glowed like a living torch. The murals flared in response, shadows of past rebellions flickering across the walls.
Nitron's smile was jagged. "Good. Fight me. I'll enjoy breaking you again."
He struck first.
Sigils burst from his hands, lashing into chains of shadow that shot across the chamber. They coiled toward Elma's throat, the phantom leash reborn. For an instant she felt it tighten, memory crushing her ribs—every order, every humiliation, every moment of silence.
Mine.
The shard shrieked in her skull, a blast of raw power erupting from her body. The chains shattered mid-air, sparks scattering like dying stars. Elma dropped to her knees, gasping, smoke curling from her arms.
Calista was there before she fell, steadying her. "Stay with me."
"I'm here," Elma rasped, though her voice trembled.
Nitron laughed, the sound echoing off the murals. "Pathetic. The shard burns you alive, and you think that makes you strong?"
He swept his hand toward the throne. The entire Tower shuddered, columns cracking, murals bleeding red. The throne itself rose higher, as if lifted by invisible hands, its crown blazing like a sun.
"This is my dominion!" he roared. "Kneel or die!"
The shard's whisper tore through Elma's mind, raw and merciless: Kill him. Take the throne. Burn everything until ash is all that remains.
Her vision blurred white. For a heartbeat, she saw herself seizing the throne, flames devouring Vale House, Calista at her feet—not as lover, but as subject. The hunger was unbearable.
"Elma!"
Calista's hands gripped her face, pulling her back. Eyes sharp, commanding, achingly human. "Don't give it all to the shard. Don't lose yourself. You're more than this."
Elma's breath hitched, the vision shattering. She clung to Calista's touch like lifeline. "Then don't let go."
Calista's lips curved, fierce and unyielding. "Never."
They rose together.
Nitron hurled another barrage—sigils whipping into spears of black flame. Elma raised her arms, shard-light bursting outward in a wall of fire that clashed mid-air. The chamber roared, the shockwave rattling the murals until cracks spiderwebbed through the walls.
Servants had gathered at the Tower's threshold, their faces pale, their eyes wide. They watched as leashless vessel and master clashed in fire and shadow. Whispers swelled: Rebellion. Freedom. The leash is broken.
Nitron's fury twisted his features. "They are mine!" he bellowed, pointing toward the servants. "Every soul in this house belongs to me!"
"No," Elma said, her voice carrying like thunder. "Not anymore."
The shard surged, pouring power into her veins. Light erupted from her body, so bright the murals wept. For a moment she felt invincible, untouchable, a goddess of fire and rebellion.
Nitron snarled, his own body splitting with black light. "Then die as one."
He lunged.
The throne blazed behind him, its crown pulsing with raw energy. Sigils erupted beneath his boots, launching him across the chamber like a spear. His hand shot forward, claws of shadow aimed for Elma's heart.
Elma met him head-on. The shard screamed, her entire body burning white as she threw both arms wide. Their powers collided—black and white fire twisting, devouring the air, the ground cracking beneath them.
For a heartbeat, they were locked. His chains dug into her shoulders, his grip crushing, her veins searing with the shard's hunger. She felt herself breaking.
Then Calista struck.
She had slipped behind him, blade drawn from her hidden sash. With one perfect, merciless thrust, she drove it between his ribs.
Nitron roared, staggering. The shadows faltered, his chains unraveling.
Elma seized the opening. The shard howled, power pouring from her in a torrent of white fire that engulfed him. His body convulsed, flames searing through his veins, his scream splitting the chamber as the murals blazed in defiance.
The throne cracked.
The crown shattered.
Nitron fell to his knees, fire tearing him apart. His pale eyes, once so cold and sure, now blazed with terror. He looked at Elma—not as master to vessel, but as man to executioner.
"You…" His voice broke into ash. "…mine…"
Elma's fire flared one last time, devouring the word, burning it from existence.
When the light faded, nothing remained but ash.
Silence fell over the Tower.
The throne lay in ruins, crown reduced to dust. The murals flickered, then dimmed, as though centuries of suffering had finally been released.
Elma staggered, her body trembling, smoke curling from her veins. Calista caught her, holding her upright.
"It's done," Calista whispered, though her voice trembled. "He's gone."
The shard pulsed once, heavy and satisfied. Owner broken. Throne undone. Vessel crowned.
Elma's chest heaved. "No," she whispered. "I don't want his crown."
But even as she said it, the servants at the doorway knelt. Not to Nitron. To her.
"Elma," Calista murmured, eyes dark and unreadable. "They're already choosing."
The shard hummed louder, hungrier. Rule. Take them. Desire is power.
Elma pressed her forehead to Calista's shoulder, her body trembling with exhaustion. "I don't want to be him."
Calista's arms wrapped tight around her. "Then don't. We'll make something else."
The Tower groaned as if agreeing—or warning.
Above them, the spire cracked, ash drifting down like snow. Vale House shuddered, its master dead, its leash shattered.
The rebellion had begun.
And in the heart of the ruin, Elma stood crowned in ash.