The Draoth Cara must have held it at bay, keeping the debt from coming due. But now, with every other soul bound to him gone, there was only one left.
His.
Death was coming to collect.
He stayed on his knees, swaying, teetering on the brink of collapse, his breaths ragged and shallow.
But then he began to crawl—to her.
His trembling hands clawed at the ground, dragging his body forward. But his shadow—hisshadow—moved faster.
It slid across the Pit, gliding effortlessly over the distance between them, stopping just in front of her.
Elara held her breath, her pulse hammering as she lowered the barrier just enough to let it through. The shadow rose, curling upward like a dark whisper, and brushed against her brow.
In that sliver of eternity, that fragile, heartbeat stretched pause between shadows and blazing light, Ivan's gaze found hers.
It was an electric jolt, a silent collision of souls.
Suddenly, a whirlwind of his emotions and memories crashed over her—laughter echoed briefly, the bright sound of childhood joy, snuffed out too soon and replaced by the hardened resolve of a youth forced to grow up too fast. She glimpsed the hidden corners of his soul: nights spent in solitude, waging battles against demons both external and within. His eyes, those windows to horrors witnessed and betrayals endured, revealed despair so profound it could have shattered anyone else.
Yet amidst the storm of anguish, there was warmth—a tender thread of hope and the faint flicker of unfulfilled dreams. It was there in the softening of his irises, the subtle relaxation of a brow so often furrowed with tension.
And then, piercing through it all, came a vision.
Her. Bathed in the golden light of early morning, her wild cascade of hair catching the sun’s rays, each strand glowing like spun fire. Dawn kissed her skin, turning it into a canvas of gold, and in that fleeting moment, she saw herself as he had: radiant.
The world was quiet. She felt the warm tendrils of sunlight,feltthemas he had—caressing, worshipping, each golden beam accentuating the curves and planes of her face, dancing over the soft smile gracing her lips as her gaze met his.
Through his eyes she felt the heartbeat that echoed her name; the unrestrained adoration, the deep-seated respect, and the unabashed love brimming with a quiet kind of eternity.
For a breath, she was him, living that cherished moment, feeling the ribbon of joy unfurl in his soul. She tasted the depth of his feelings for her—boundless and reverent, raw and undying.
A sacred kind of love that dared to bear itself in totality, before the altar of her soul.
And then as the vision dimmed, reality rushing back with jarring abruptness, Elara was left with that irrefutable knowledge tattooed on every fiber of her being.
A tear streaked down her face as her gaze settled back on his, and he nodded.
It wasn’t just a nod—it was a vow.
A yielding to her—a silent affirmation of what he’d just laid bare.
He pushed himself up on shaky legs. And then he was moving, cutting, slicing through the swell, through the chaos, through everything that separates.
And she knew.
Without a word spoken. Without a single promise uttered, sheknew.
He would follow her.
Wherever she would lead, he would be right behind.
Elara dropped the barrier and ran. The world funneled into a narrow tunnel of sound and motion, her blood roaring in her ears. The ground churned beneath her feet, slick with mud and darker stains. Bodies jostled her, soldiers barreled past, but she didn’t stop. She sprinted, every breath a jagged knife in her lungs.
Her heart was a fierce, broken beat. Mending and shattering and tearing apart again with every step closer to him.
Reynnar’s gaze snapped to hers, even as his blade tore through the Legion with brutal precision. Concern flickered across his face as his eyes darted to Ivan, but his jaw tightened, focus hardening like steel. A soldier lunged—he cut him down. Another fell, then another, blood spraying through the air. Between strikes, his eyes found hers again, a silent tether pulling him closer.
