“No!”
Her focus narrowed to Osin, her vision tunneling as she sprinted forward, muscles burning with every step. The Legion swarmed the Pit, surging back like a tide toward Reynnar and Ivan, where steel flashed in the dim light.
But Osin wasn’t looking. His dark gaze was locked on Ivan, a twisted satisfaction curling his lips.
In that fleeting heartbeat, Elara lunged. Her shoulder slammed into his chest, the force sending him stumbling back, off balance. Surprise flickered in his eyes a split-second before they both hit the ground, the impact rattling through her bones as a choking cloud of dust billowed around them.
Shadows clawed out, frantic, but Elara didn’t falter. She drove the blade into his chest, steel tearing through flesh, slicing bone, and burying itself deep in his heart.
Osin gasped, his features twisting as the shadows around him sputtered and dissolved. For a heartbeat, his wide eyes locked with hers.
Then he laughed—a rasping, broken sound that crawled over her skin.
“Still so naive. Deathbelongsto me. Do you know what happens to those who fight the inevitable?” He smiled, an evil, wicked grin. “Time turns them to dust.”
He reached for the blade, his fingers curling around the hilt, but with a savage twist, Elara yanked it out.
Osin let out a choked groan, blood pouring from his chest in a hot, dark torrent that splashed onto the ground. His eyes dimmed, but even then, she saw it—the wound beginning to close, flesh knitting itself together.
Her lips curled back, teeth bared as a sound tore from her throat—a raw, guttural snarl laced with fury and devastation. She leaned in, her voice low. “Then I’ll make my own vow—to death, to time. I vow to find a way to end you. But until then…”
She slashed a deep, jagged line across his cheek, the blade splitting the flesh into a cruel, monstrous scar. She struck again, carving another line across the other side.
“When you look at your ruined,uglyface, you’ll remember what you did. You’ll rememberme.”
Osin screamed—and hands seized her, yanking her backward. She slammed into the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.
A Legionnaire loomed above her as vines burst from the earth, snapping around her legs. They coiled tight, locking her in place.
She thrashed, kicked—but the more she fought, the harder they constricted.
Then came the heat.
Familiar. Wild.
Fire swept over her skin like an old memory roaring back to life. Reynnar’s fire.
Flames raced up the vines, consuming the Legionnaire in a heartbeat and leaving only ash. Not a single scorch mark touched her skin.
It was his fire—always his. Fierce and consuming, yet impossibly gentle, as if it knew her, burned for her alone.
Elara flung her hands out, a barrier snapping into place, whirling back the encroaching chaos. She looked up, pulse roaring in her ears. Reynnar was sprinting toward her, fury etched into every line of his face—but her attention snagged on Ivan.
He was on his knees, shoulders heaving, gasping as though the air had been ripped from his lungs. Her strike to Osin’s heart must have shattered the command to attack Reynnar.
But something was wrong.
Blood streaked Ivan’s mouth, and when he lifted his head, her stomach dropped.
Dark vines crept over his eyes, winding tighter, pulsing as if they fed on him. Shadows spilled from his hands, coiling like snakes. For a beat that stretched endlessly, she thought of the Shades—their half-life, barely tethered to the world.
Terror seized her.
Then, through the pounding in her head, the memory surfaced:"Minva sölk harn."
My soul for hers.
Her breath hitched. That cursed vow—binding him to Death.
