She stared, paralyzed, at the figure before her.

  Was it really Tetsu Yami—or the thing wearing his face?

  His knees were bent, his muscles coiling and trembling under the colossal tonnage of the Dracoleón’s snapping jaws.

  The beast roared, a sound of muffled, frustrated fury, and drove its weight down.

  Tetsu grunted, a wet, strained sound. He didn't buckle. instead, the ground beneath him rippled.

  Serenya watched as a pulse of heavy magic flowed from his boots into the earth. The soil answered him. It didn't just support him; it rose up, wrapping around his greaves, locking him into the bedrock with the density of a mountain. Earth magic.

  The blade in his hand hummed, the pale aura darkening to a deep violet. Dark magic.

  Serenya scrambled backward, her heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs.

  It’s him, the panic whispered, cold and absolute. It’s the executioner. He’s using the same magic. He’s using the same face.

  "Move!" Tetsu roared through gritted teeth, his head snapping toward her.

  To a rational mind, it was a command to get to safety. To Serenya, trapped in the echo of her own trauma, it was a threat. It was the monster telling the prey to run so the chase could continue.

  She tried to stand, but her legs were unstable. She pushed herself back until she hit the rough bark of a tree, curling into a ball, waiting for the blade to fall.

  Yllara, watching from the edge of the clearing, let out a shriek of pure, unadulterated rage. Her game had been interrupted. Her masterpiece was being blocked by a man who should not be here.

  "You!" she screamed, leveling her staff. "Filth! Iron-blooded rat! You dare touch my Guardian?"

  She raised her hand, and the shadows of the forest detached themselves from the trees. They coalesced into lances of solid obsidian, harder than steel, and launched themselves at Tetsu’s exposed back.

  Tetsu couldn't move. He was the only thing keeping the Dracoleón from snapping its jaws shut. If he dodged, the beast would be free.

  He didn't dodge.

  He stomped his left heel.

  A wall of jagged rock erupted from the earth behind him, interposing itself between him and Yllara. The shadow-lances slammed into the stone barrier, shattering it into gravel and dust, but the blow was absorbed.

  Serenya flinched as the debris rained down around her. She watched through the dust, her eyes wide and unblinking. She saw Tetsu straining, veins popping in his neck. She saw the dark aura flaring around him, mixing with the dust.

  In her mind, the image overlaid perfectly with the False Tetsu. The way he commanded the earth. The way he wielded the darkness. The line between memory and reality dissolved. She wasn't seeing a rescuer; she was seeing a monster fighting another monster for the right to kill her.

  "Why?" she whimpered, pressing her hands over her ears. "Why won't you just let me die?"

  The Dracoleón, sensing the distraction, thrashed. It whipped its head to the side, throwing Tetsu off balance. The curved blade slipped a fraction of an inch along the bone.

  Tetsu roared, a sound of pure exertion, and slammed his shoulder into the beast’s snout, forcing it back. But the effort cost him. His footing slipped. The earth-lock broke. He slid backward, boots carving grooves in the stone, leaving him exposed.

  Yllara didn't hesitate. She began to chant, the words slithering through the air like oil. A sphere of darkness—a hollow sun of pure negation—began to form above her staff. It was the same spell that had crushed Alarin.

  Tetsu saw it. He looked at Yllara, then at the beast, then—for a split second—at Serenya.

  His eyes were desperate. "Serenya!!"

  She stared at him. She didn't know what to do, her mind had been elsewhere this whole time, oblivious to the actions around her.

  In a frantic and desperate measure, she reached inside herself, grasping for the elements to help.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  She reached for the Water, begging for a wave to wash them all away. Silence. The internal ocean was a dry, cracked bed.

  She reached for the Wind, pleading for a gale to carry her out of this nightmare. Stillness. The air in her lungs was stale and dead.

  She reached for the Earth, the Thunder, the Light, the Forest. Even the Fire and Darkness. Nothing.

  They were dormant. They were hiding. They had felt the presence of the corrupted beast. The power of the witch. Horrified of losing their vessel, they had retreated into the deepest bunkers of her soul. She was empty.

  She was a frightened field mouse caught between three predators.

  Yllara released the sphere.

  It flew across the clearing, a hole in the world screeching as it tore through the air.

  Tetsu couldn't block it. He was holding the beast.

  He made a choice.

  He released the blade. He dropped his guard. He threw himself sideways, not away from the danger, but toward Serenya.

  He crashed into her, his heavy, armored body slamming her into the dirt, covering her.

  The sphere struck the ground where she had been standing a moment ago.

  The impact was silent. It was the sound of existence being deleted. A crater of nothingness appeared instantly, eating the earth, the stone, and the roots.

  Tetsu grunted as the edge of the void-wave clipped his shoulder. His pauldron disintegrated. The flesh beneath turned gray and withered instantly.

  He didn't scream. He just shuddered, his weight heavy and suffocating on top of her.

  Serenya lay pinned beneath him, the smell of charred armour, sweat, and rotting magic filling her nose. She felt his heart hammering against her chest, a frantic, mortal rhythm. She felt the tremor in his arms as he held himself up, shielding her from the fallout of Yllara's void-sphere.

  But her mind didn't see a shield.

  Her mind saw the False Tetsu pinning her down. Her mind felt the weight of the Earth crushing her. Her mind remembered the blade falling.

  He has me, the panic shrieked. He has me pinned. He’s going to finish it.

  She struggled, clawing at his chest, her nails scraping uselessly against the leather armor. She kicked at his legs, a frantic, animalistic thrashing. "Get off! Get off me!"

  "Stay down!" Tetsu snarled, his voice rough with pain, his teeth gritted against the agony of his withered shoulder. He shifted his grip, pinning her wrists to the dirt to stop her from hurting herself. "Stop fighting me! You stupid girl! I am trying to keep you alive!"

  But the grip on her wrists was the trigger. It mimicked the cold band of the Vow. It mimicked the stone shackles of the illusion.

  She was trapped.

  The Dracoleón, free of the blade, recovered. It loomed over them, casting a shadow that swallowed the world. It opened its jaws, preparing to bathe them both in necrotic breath.

  Yllara laughed, the sound echoing from the edge of the clearing. "A touching grave," she mocked. "Buried together in the dark. It is almost poetic."

  Serenya looked up. She saw the beast's maw. She saw Yllara's smiling face. She saw Tetsu’s face, inches from hers, his eyes hard and demanding, his hands pinning her to the ground.

  She saw no escape. She saw no allies.

  And in that vacuum of hope, where the elements had died, a spark caught.

  It wasn't a roar. It wasn't an explosion. It was a fever.

  It started in the marrow of her bones, a dry, itching heat that felt like sand rubbing against raw nerves. It was uncomfortable. It was invasive. But it was awake.

  They are all the same, the Fire whispered. It didn't shout. It hissed, like a match struck in a gas-filled room. The beast is wood. The witch is shadow. The swordsman is a wall.

  Serenya stopped struggling. Her body went rigid, vibrating with a tension that wasn't fear anymore.

  Tetsu frowned, sensing the change beneath him. He looked down, expecting to see her calming. Instead, he saw sweat evaporating from her forehead. He felt the leather of his gloves beginning to grow warm where he held her wrists.

  "Serenya!?" he said, his voice losing its command tone, replaced by a sudden, sharp wariness.

  He is heavy, the Fire murmured, seductive and logical. He holds you down. He presses you into the dirt. Gravity is a chain. Break the chain.

  The heat spiked. It wasn't gradual anymore. It surged through her veins, turning her blood into liquid light. The air around them began to shimmer, warping the view of the trees above. The moss beneath her back began to smoke, curling as it heated up.

  Tetsu flinched. He tried to pull his hands back, but the heat was magnetic now, a gravity of its own. "Serenya, stop! You're burning up!"

  She looked at him. Her eyes were no longer blue. They were brightening, the irises flooding with a pale, incandescent white. She didn't see Tetsu the protector. She saw Tetsu the obstacle.

  Burn the wall, the voice urged. Purify the space. Make room for yourself.

  "Serenya!" Tetsu clamored, the smell of singed leather rising between them. He didn't let go. He couldn't. If he let go, the Dracoleón would take her. He was trapped by his own duty.

  See? the Fire taunted. He clings to you. He drags you down. He wants to die with you. But we do not want to die.

  A tear leaked from Serenya’s eye, but it didn't roll down her cheek. It sizzled and vanished into steam before it could reach her ear.

  "I..." she gasped, her voice sounding strange, distorted by the heat rising in her throat.

  Say it, the Fire demanded. Give me the word. Give me the keys.

  She looked at the rotting god above her. She looked at the laughing witch. She looked at the man holding her wrists.

  There was only one way to be safe. There was only one way to be alone.

  She closed her eyes. She found the door in her mind, the one she had slammed shut in the garret, the one she had guarded in the swamp. It was hot to the touch. It was vibrating.

  She didn't open it. She tore it off the hinges.

  "Burn," she whispered.

  Tetsu heard it. His eyes widened in absolute horror. He tried to throw himself off her, to roll away, but the air had become solid with pressure.

  The sound came first—a sharp, high-pitched whine, like a tea kettle screaming, but amplified a thousand times. The heat became absolute. It wasn't fire; it was the concept of combustion given form.

  Serenya arched her back. Her skin didn't crack; it shone. She became a silhouette of blinding white light, a star being born in the mud.

  And then, she detonated.