The words hit like a blow. So, this is really all up to me.
My legs carry me to Sylvian, who’s the closest, his usually serene expression now twisted by pain and desperation. Seeing him like this makes something inside me crack wide open. He has always been stable, always been the one who holds everything together, and now he looks like he is barely holding on himself.
I can almost hear the thud of my heart against my ribs as I reach for the dagger at my side, my fingers closing around the hilt. The moment I draw it free, the blade hums faintly, glowing blue… and then it grows. Metal lengthening in my grasp, stretching, reshaping until it becomes a full sword, the silver catching the light in a sharp, deadly flash. The weapon feels solid in my grip, reassuring in its familiarity and terrifying in what it represents.
I start hacking at the thick chains binding Sylvian’s wrists, and the clang of metal against metal echoes in the chamber like an alarm bell, ricocheting off the walls and amplifying my panic until it feels like it might swallow me whole. Each strike sends shockwaves through my arms, rattling my bones, and I grit my teeth against the ache, forcing myself to keep going even as my muscles begin to burn.I can’t stop. Not now. Not when every second matters.
It feels like forever, like time has stretched thin and cruel, but finally the links begin to give way. The smallest shift sendsa surge of hope through me, sharp and fragile. I hit it again, harder, faster, until one wrist breaks free. Then I move to the other wrist and do the same.
The moment his hands are free, Sylvian jerks forward, twisting sharply, dragging his arms clear and shifting his weight off the blades as much as he can. He angles his body away from the mechanism, muscles straining as he pulls himself just far enough to keep the daggers from pressing deeper into him.
“Good,” he breathes, rough and strained.
I move to his feet, my hands slick with sweat and shaking so badly I can barely keep hold of the sword, my grip slipping as panic claws its way higher.
“Too much time,” I mutter, the words catching in my throat as dread tightens around my chest.
The blades are already pressing deeper into the others, and I can see their blood streaking down their legs, soaking their clothes and the stone beneath them. The sight turns my stomach, bile rising hot and bitter, but I force myself to look away before it paralyzes me. To keep hammering my sword into the chains at Sylvian’s ankle as I briefly glance at Cassius, who’s the farthest away, pale and barely holding himself together, his head bowed as though the weight of it all is dragging him down.
How much longer can they last?
Sylvian gasps as the last shackle breaks and his legs give slightly beneath him, but I’m already grabbing his arm, hauling him forward.
He stumbles with me, teeth clenched hard enough I can hear it, but he doesn’t argue. He forces himself to stand, blood still running down his body, his weight heavy against me before he steadies himself. Our gaze holds for half a second, but then I continue, turning to look at who I should free next.
As our eyes meet, Cassius says, “Help me last.”
The words cut through my heart.
Even now, even with blood running down his body, even with the blades carving into him, he looks grounded. Controlled. Like he’s already decided this.
“But, I–”
“Do it,” Cassius says, quieter now, but no less certain.
Oberon lets out a low, furious sound, his entire body rigid with pain. “No, help me last.”
My stomach drops.
There’s a strained, breathless laugh. “Yeah,” Ashton manages. “Same plan. I’ll live. Probably. Take care of them.”
Something buried deep inside me fractures wide open. They’re serious. They’re not even fighting about it. They’re choosingthis. Choosingeach other, even if it costs them.
“You’re all… too sweet,” I whisper, but my voice is weak, shaking, because part of me understands exactly why they’re doing it.
I don’t stop moving. I can’t think about who needs it first, who needs it most. If I let myself make that choice, I’ll break.
So I don’t choose. I go to the one closest to me, to Oberon, and bring the sword down hard on his chains. Metal rings out, loud and sharp, the sound swallowed by the grinding of the mechanism.
Sylvian is beside me a second later, breathing hard, his own sword already in his hand. He doesn’t say anything. He just brings it down hard against the other chain, adding his strength to mine.
Oberon grits his teeth as the blades press deeper into him, a rough sound tearing from his throat that he tries and fails to hold back.
“Faster, or the others won’t make it,” he whispers.
“I am,” I choke, striking again, harder, my arms already burning.
The chain doesn’t give.
