Morrathys strains under the effort to summon his Death magic, as if he’s drawing it from a distance.From Maldrak’s binding spell itself.
The air thickens, heavy with power I once called mine. I don’t regret giving it. This was always how it was meant to be—my darkness finding purpose beyond me.
The tether between Elyssara and me tightens, alive with the echo of both magics. The air tastes of smoke and metal, of endings and beginnings entwined.
And for a breath, the chamber stands at the threshold of creation and decay—caught perfectly between them.
Through the swirling chaos of smoke, silver, and emerald-green, Seren whispers, “And now, one channel to weave the binding.”
Her eyes close, her hands raising upward, palms open like a living invocation.
Her mouth opens, and the sound that pours out isn’t hers—it’s polyphonic, layered and echoing, as though a dozen unseen throats are chanting the same spell a heartbeat behind her.
She chants in a language I don’t know or understand.
But whatever she’s doing, it’s working.
The rune flares a vibrant green.
Lesara’s blood dances on the air, intermingling with Death magic and shadows—the chamber is a living cauldron.
It coalesces, forming a tunnel of melded elements, crackling with electric charge.
The tunnel twists, altering its path until it forms a bridge between Maldrak and Morrathys.
Maldrak’s eyes spring open, jarring him back to consciousness with the sheer strength of the magic.
“No,” he breathes weakly.
“Oh yes,” Morrathys snarls.
The bridge between them—the binding that’s leashed Morrathys for a decade—churns and spins, generating gusts through the chamber that rattle our teeth.
“End it, Seren!” I command, urging her on.
But she doesn’t hear me, too lost to the spell.
Her hair whips through the air and across her face in a wild thrash, her hands still upheld as she bellows the incantation in a voice not entirely her own.
Then—
The room erupts in darkness.
Drenched in a mist of shadows.
But the air stills.
The fog fades, dissipating around us like a grand reveal.
Seren’s eyes are open, her voice her own when she scrambles toward Morrathys.
“Did it work?”
The answer comes first as silence.
A single, hollow breath that stretches far too long.
Then the bridge—the twisting conduit of green, black, and silver—shudders, its light flickering like a candle on its last gasp.
