-Alarik-
He saw the arrow before he saw her.
A glint of twisted glass. A whisper of death through the smoke.
And Maris, frozen for just a moment, her sword still raised, her eyes locked with the thing that wore Elenwe’s face.
Too far.
He was too godsdamned far.
But he ran anyway.
The world blurred.
Lightning roared in his blood.
He couldn’t be too late to save another from a blow, they didn’t deserve.
Every part of him knew he wouldn’t reach her in time.
Not again.
Not again.
Not again.
He slammed into her side at the exact moment the arrow found its mark.
Not in her chest.
In his shoulder.
Pain ripped through him like fire hot, fast, wrong. The Veil-glass burned under his skin, pulsing with corrupted magic. His knees hit the ground hard. Maris stumbled with him, her hands catching his arm, his chest.
“No,” she gasped, voice breaking as she saw the arrow.
But he was already gripping her tighter.
Still standing between her and the next shot.
He looked up, at Elenwe.
At what remained of her.
And for the first time since she’d stepped onto the field, his voice found her.
“Don’t do this.”
Elenwe didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
“You already did.”
Her voice was hollow, echoing with ancient venom.
She nocked another arrow.
And Alarik, bleeding, bracing, still shielding the woman he loved said nothing.
