Ray's breathing was ragged, his sword still dripping as he scanned the courtyard. The flickering light from the burning wings of the manor reflected in his eyes — fierce, frantic, alive.
"Ray…" Zelene's voice trembled, barely a whisper. "My father— my mother— Caelan—"
"I know," he said, cutting her off, his voice hoarse but steady. "Zelene, we don't have time."
He wiped his blade on his torn sleeve, sheathing it in one quick motion before grabbing her arm — not roughly, but with the kind of urgency that made her heart twist.
"They'll come back," he continued, eyes darting toward the darkened gate. "There's more of them. We have to move."
"But— Elara—"
His jaw tightened. "Milady." His voice broke slightly, almost a plea. "If we stay, neither of us makes it out alive."
The words hit her like a knife. The air reeked of smoke and iron. Somewhere in the distance, she could still hear screams — servants, guards, people she'd known all her life.
Ray stepped closer, his hand still gripping her wrist. "Look at me."
She did — and the moment their eyes met, the noise, the flames, everything else blurred.
His expression was grim, shadowed with pain and fury — but beneath it, there was something softer. A silent vow.
"I'll get you out," he said quietly. "Even if it kills me."
Zelene swallowed hard. She wanted to argue, to turn back, to do something — but her body wouldn't move against the weight of his words.
He released her wrist only to take her hand instead, their fingers locking together.
"Stay close," he said again. "Don't stop. No matter what you hear."
Then he pulled her with him.
They ran through the smoke-choked corridors of the Evandelle manor — once a home of laughter and light, now collapsing into ash. The floorboards groaned beneath their steps; the air burned their lungs.
Zelene's skirts caught on splintered wood, but Ray tugged her free without slowing. Every few steps, he looked back, scanning the shadows for movement — ready to shield her again if he had to.
They passed through the grand hall, where portraits of their ancestors were now half-burned, their painted eyes melting into nothing.
Zelene's chest ached.
"This is my fault," she whispered between breaths. "If I hadn't—"
Ray stopped — just for a moment — and turned to her. His face was streaked with soot, a shallow cut bleeding down his cheek, but his gaze was fierce.
"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "Don't say that. You didn't do this."
She wanted to believe him.
But as they reached the outer gates and the wind carried the screams of the dying, Zelene felt the truth tightening around her like a noose.
Everything she loved was gone.
And now, all she had left — was the hand holding hers.