The fire had no master.
It spread without purpose, devouring wood, stone, flesh—everything in its path.
What had once been Eldermere was collapsing.
The smoke curled into the sky like a living thing, rising in thick, twisting tendrils, swallowing the stars. The streets that had once bustled with voices and trade, with laughter and life, were now filled only with ashes and screams.
The battle was over.
And Eldermere had lost.
Lira stood in the ruins, her sword heavy in her grip. Her breath burned in her throat, every inhales thick with the stench of blood and fire. She could still hear the dying—those too wounded to flee, those who hadn't made it to the treeline before the noble forces fell apart.
Somewhere beyond the chaos, a child cried.
Somewhere in the smoke, someone begged for mercy.
But there was no mercy left to give.
The Rift had claimed this place.
Not by force.
Not by war.
But by waiting.
By pulling Aric into its grasp and letting everything else fall apart.
And now, with him gone—
There was nothing left.
Nothing but fire and ruin.
----
The Riftmarked had not moved.
Lira could see them standing in the valley beyond the wreckage, their rusted armor still catching the dim glow of the dying flames.
They did not pursue the fleeing villagers.
They did not raise their swords.
They simply… stood.
Watching.
Waiting.
As if without Aric, they had no purpose.
A single knight from House Valtor tried to run past them.
His armor was dented, his banner discarded, his face streaked with soot and fear. He barely made it three steps into the open before—
A Riftmarked warrior raised its blade.
One motion.
A clean cut.
The knight fell, lifeless.
And the Riftmarked returned to waiting.
Lira clenched her fists.
They weren't killing indiscriminately.
They weren't hunting.
They were guarding.
The Rift had opened.
Aric had stepped through.
And now, the Riftmarked stood as its sentinels.
----
Lira forced her legs to move.
One step.
Then another.
Each one felt heavier than the last.
She had fought to keep Aric in this world. Had risked everything to stop him from going where she could not follow.
But she had failed.
And now—
She was alone.
Her boots crunched over the broken stone as she moved through the wreckage, searching.
She didn't call out. Didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Because if there were survivors—they were either too weak to move or already dead.
Then—
A cough.
A ragged, pained exhale.
Lira spun.
Through the haze of smoke and falling embers, she saw him.
Kael.
He was barely upright, one arm bracing against a collapsed wall, blood trailing from his side. His breathing was labored, his armor cracked—but he was alive.
Barely.
But alive.
Lira rushed to his side, catching him before he collapsed.
"You stubborn bastard," she muttered, her voice hoarse.
Kael coughed, trying to smirk but failing. "You… love me for it."
Lira didn't answer.
She was too busy trying to stop the bleeding.
Because even as Eldermere burned—
Even as the Rift loomed—
Even as Aric was lost to something greater than any of them—
Kael was still here.
And she wasn't losing him, too.
----
Kael was dying.
Lira knew the look.
The pale skin. The uneven breathing. The flicker of pain that flashed across his eyes before he forced it down, tried to make himself seem stronger than he was.
His wounds were deep. Too deep.
Even if they escaped Eldermere, even if they found a healer—he might not make it.
She pressed a hand to his side, trying to stop the bleeding.
Kael hissed, but he didn't push her away.
"You should go," he muttered.
Lira didn't look up. Didn't stop.
She tore a strip of cloth from what was left of her cloak, pressing it against the wound.
"Shut up, Kael."
"Lira."
His voice was softer now. More serious.
But she still wouldn't listen.
She kept working, kept tying the makeshift bandage tighter, her hands trembling.
"I am not leaving you."
Kael exhaled sharply.
"You already lost him, Lira."
Her hands stilled.
The words cut deeper than any blade.
She lifted her head, her face hardened, unreadable.
Kael watched her, his expression torn between regret and acceptance.
"Don't lose yourself, too."
Lira's jaw clenched.
Her heart ached in a way she wasn't ready to name.
But still—she refused to let him go.
Not yet.
Not today.
She grabbed his arm and yanked him upright.
Kael groaned, barely able to stand.
But he did stand.
Because if he fell—she would carry him herself.
"Move." Lira's voice was cold, steady. "We're leaving."
Kael blinked. Then—he smiled.
"Thought you'd say that."
----
The villagers had already begun to scatter.
Those who could run had vanished into the treeline, their shapes nothing more than fleeting shadows against the firelight.
But some had not been so lucky.
Lira passed the ones who had been too slow, too weak, too wounded.
They huddled near the ruins, watching the Riftmarked, praying the silent warriors would not move.
"Where do we go?" a woman whispered.
"There's nothing left," another sobbed.
Lira didn't stop to answer.
Because she didn't know the answer.
There was nowhere left to go.
Eldermere was gone.
Not just the walls and homes—but the people.
Their unity. Their purpose.
They had fought for this place.
Had bled for it.
And now—
It was just a graveyard.
A place where the Rift had won.
And Aric was no longer here to stop it.
A few villagers saw her passing, their gazes shifting toward Kael, toward the blood that covered both of them.
One man hesitated before stepping forward.
"We'll take him," he said.
Lira frowned.
"What?"
"Your friend. He won't survive if he stays."
She stared at him, gripping Kael tighter.
The thought of leaving him with strangers—
No.
But Kael—
Kael met her eyes.
And for the first time, he wasn't fighting her.
"Lira," he rasped. "Go."
Lira's breathing hitched.
Kael wasn't asking.
He was telling her.
Because he knew—
She couldn't stay here.
Not when the Rift was still open.
Not when Aric was still gone.
She clenched her fists.
Then, after a long moment—she let go.
She pushed Kael toward the villagers.
"Keep him alive," she said.
And then—
She turned back toward the Rift.
---
The Rift had never been so open.
Not like this.
Not in the way that made the air burn, that made the sky feel like it was peeling away.
Not in the way that called her name.
Lira stood at the edge of the ruins, staring across the battlefield.
The Riftmarked had not moved.
The noble army was gone.
And the Rift—
It was waiting.
For what?
For who?
For him?
For Aric?
Or for something else entirely?
She had never been afraid of war.
Never be afraid of men.
But this?
This terrified her.
Because she knew—
This was only the beginning.
And whatever was on the other side of that Rift—
It had Aric now.
And it wasn't going to let him go.