Burnout weeps openly.
We retreatbeneath a sky littered with stars, silent and solemn. Even the crickets hold their breath.
The Vorfaluka is adapting. That much is clear now. The creature grows bolder with every dusk, smarter with each kill. It learns from this world, drinks from it like a leech, swells on it.
And I—I am diminishing.
We reach Olivia’s cabin, a small fortress of wood and will, tucked among whispering trees and forgotten shadows. I collapse onto the porch steps, spear across my lap. It’s too light in my hands. Too still.
Its glow flickers now, like a dying ember.
“This was forged in the Boneforge of Yar’Kazhul,” I mutter, mostly to myself, though Olivia hovers nearby. “Bathed in spiritsong. Hardened in battle. I watched it sever the heads of wraith-kings. But now…”
She lowers herself beside me, careful and quiet. Her warmth is close, yet not touching. Not yet.
“The magic’s bleeding out,” I say, bitter as old blood. “It was never meant to exist here. This world... devours it.”
“You said something about that. When you came through the Veil,” she says. Her voice is soft, like velvet over steel. “That the longer you stayed, the harder it’d be to go back.”
I nod. “The longer I remain, the more I forget how it felt. The weight of Gor’Zaht air in my lungs. The scent of ash and steel. My brother’s voice... already it dims.”
She touches my arm. Not soft. Firm. Anchoring.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “He died screaming. Torn apart by that filth. And I was too slow. Too arrogant. I thought I would tear the beast’s head off within a day. Now it dances in the dark and my spear is just...wood and iron.”
Silence.
She doesn’t offer pity. Doesn’t spout hollow comforts.
Instead, she says, “You’re not done yet.”
I glance over.
She’s watching me, eyes sharp, alive. “You’re still here. Still fighting. And maybe your spear’s dimming, but you’re not.”
I exhale, the weight in my chest easing just enough to breathe again.
She leans a little closer, just enough that I feel the warmth of her cheek near mine.
“You came here for revenge,” she murmurs. “But maybe… it’s becoming something more.”
I look at her then, truly look—beneath the sarcasm and fire and fierce independence, there’s someone who’s lost things too. Who fights for small things that matter because the big things have already taken too much.
“I do not know what this is,” I say, voice rough. “But it matters.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away.
Instead, she kisses me.
CHAPTER 7
OLIVIA
The kiss almost tilts into something deeper—something molten and reckless.
Kursk’s hand cradles the side of my face like I’m made of glass, and yet there’s a barely leashed wildness in him, like he’s one breath away from dragging me onto his lap and forgetting the world exists. I feel it—the tension, the gravity pulling us toward each other like planets spiraling into collision. My breath hitches. His eyes flicker down to my lips again.
