Torin isn’t much better. His blood mingles with the river, turning the water around us pink. He’s treading for both of us, and I can feel through the bond how much effort that requires. How close he is to going under himself.
Above us, Caspian stands on the dam like a conquering hero. Both hands raised. Power flowing from him in waves that make the air itself shimmer. And the dam—gods, the dam.
The cracks aren’t just spreading anymore. They’re glowing. Pulsing. The ancient runes meant to strengthen the structure are being systematically shattered by hydrokinetic force that no single Deep Runner should be able to generate.
But Caspian isn’t just any Deep Runner. He’s a master. A veteran who’s spent decades perfecting his art. And he’s willingto sacrifice everything—his life, his people’s future, his soul—to drown the valley.
“We have to stop him.” My voice comes out hoarse. Weak. Nothing like the diplomat who arrived at this delta days ago.
“How?” Torin’s question carries no defeat, just pragmatism. “We’re spent, Zara. We redirected the wave and it took everything we had left. I can barely stand. You can’t generate enough lightning to disrupt a candle right now, let alone counter that.” He gestures toward Caspian’s display of raw power.
He’s right. I know he’s right. But knowing doesn’t change the reality that in minutes—maybe seconds—the dam will fail. The reservoir will empty. And thousands of people downstream will die in the flood.
All our transformation, all our power, all our love—it’s not enough.
The thought breaks something inside me. Not the bond. That’s unbreakable now, permanent as gravity. But my confidence. My belief that choosing each other would somehow make us strong enough to save the world.
We’re not heroes. We’re just two people who fell in love at the worst possible time and now we get to watch everything burn because we weren’t quite powerful enough to stop it.
Through the bond, Torin feels my despair. Feels the moment I start to give up. And he does something I don’t expect.
He kisses me.
Not passionate. Not desperate. Gentle. Grounding. A reminder that even if we fail, even if the world ends, at least we have this. At least we found each other. At least we got to be something beautiful before the darkness came.
When he pulls back, his eyes hold something I can’t quite read. Not acceptance. Not surrender. Something else. Something that makes the bond hum with dangerous possibility.
“What?” I ask.
“There might be a way.” His voice is careful. Measured. “But it’s not—it’s dangerous. Might not work. Might kill us. Might be worse than killing us.”
“Tell me.”
He takes a breath. Lets it out. “The bond. We’ve been using it to combine our magic. To amplify what we can each do individually. But that’s not—that’s not what it’s capable of at its deepest level.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We can merge.” The words come out quiet. Final. “Not just our magic. Us. Consciousness, soul, everything. Become one entity temporarily. Draw power from the fusion itself instead of from what we each bring to it.”
The implications hit me like a physical blow. “That’s—that’s not possible. Bonds don’t work like that. They connect, they don’t?—”
“Ours does.” His certainty is absolute. “I can feel it. The potential sitting there, waiting. We touched it in the Oubliette when we completed the claiming. Felt how deep this goes. We pulled back because we were afraid. Because becoming one thing means losing yourself. Potentially forever.”
My mind races. “You’re saying we might not separate again.”
“I’m saying I don’t know. No one’s tried this. Maybe we separate easily. Maybe we separate damaged. Maybe we don’t separate at all and whatever we become is the only thing that survives.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.” He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to convince me it’s safe. “But if we don’t try, thousands die. The valley floods. War starts. Everything we’ve fought for ends right here.”
I look up at the dam. The cracks are spreading faster now. Chunks of stone falling free. I can see the reservoir throughthe gaps—millions of gallons held back by failing magic and crumbling structure.
Minutes. We have minutes.
“If we do this,” I say slowly, “and we don’t come back as ourselves?—”
“Then we’ll have saved them anyway.” Torin’s voice carries no regret. “And maybe what we become will be worth the sacrifice.”
