“Lies?” Severen laughed—a low, rich sound that filled the air like smoke. “Then hear the truth.”
The air shifted. Cold. I felt his breath on my ear.
“Your friendship with Salvatore will end brutally.”
The words hit like a curse burned into flesh.
“You’ve carried him far enough,” Severen went on, his tone smooth and merciless. “Dragged his weakness through fire, through filth, through blood. But here—here—you can let go. You canendit. Be free.”
From the shadows, movement stirred.
The snakes returned—not crawling from the floor this time, but fromhim.
They slithered from Salvatore’s body as if he were giving birth to them—wet, glistening coils spilling from his mouth, his open wounds. They wrapped around his throat, his arms, his eyes. His body spasmed once, his lips parted—no scream—just a tremor, a shudder, a dying whisper of breath.
I froze.
“You see it, don’t you?” Severen purred. “This is what he hides—a vessel of rot. A weight dragging you down. Let him go.”
At the edge of the dark, a glow emerged—soft, flickering. A torch drifted forward without a hand to bear it, gliding through the air like an offering.
It stopped in front of me, the haft brushing against my mouth, warm, waiting.
“Burn him,” Severen whispered, his voice like honey poured over broken glass. “Let the fire speak the truth. He will never rise as a Shadow Lord. But you can.”
I bit down on the torch haft, my teeth grinding against char and ash. The heat licked my face, blistering skin, filling the air with the stench of pitch and smoke.
Light flared across the chamber, revealing the horror before me—Salvatore, cocooned in serpents, their bodies coiling tighter with each heartbeat. His chest barely stirred. His face was ashen, as still as carved stone beneath the scales.
And I hesitated.
The torch trembled between my teeth. Severen’s promise bled into the air around me—strength, freedom, ascension.I could taste it, metallic and divine, the way blood tasted before a killing blow. For one heartbeat, Iwantedit.
All I had to do was choose.
One step.
One betrayal.
One flame.
The silence before the act felt almost holy—like the world was waiting for me to damn myself.
Then something inside me cracked.
Not with despair.
With defiance.
I roared. The ragged sound tore from my throat, scraping against the walls like a dying god’s cry.
And I hurled the torch?—
Not at Salvatore.
Atthem.
Fire struck.
