Edmund and Varhathor collided, their blades meeting with a force that shook the world itself. The dome shattered, clouds tore apart above them, and the earth split beneath their feet as steel and power crashed together.

  “You’re gambling that boy’s life for these insects?” Varhathor scoffed, addressing Saevnir and not Edmund.

  “Look down on us all you want,” Edmund shot back instead, driving his sword forward and forcing Varhathor back. “But I will take you down!”

  Varhathor raised his blade.

  Dozens of obsidian lances formed in the air around him and hurled themselves toward Edmund in a deadly storm.

  Edmund answered with a wide, arcing slash.

  A wave of lightning roared from his blade, tearing through the lances and surging straight toward Varhathor. The monster vanished in a burst of smoke, reappearing moments later as dark vapor billowed around him.

  From that vapor, shapes emerged.

  Spectral beasts—wolves, jaguars, and even the horned form of the southern boar—coalesced from shadow and cinder, their eyes burning with fiery light.

  Varhathor sent the pack charging.

  Edmund met them head-on, cutting through claw and fang as lightning flared with every strike. Step by step, he forced his way forward toward his opponent.

  Varhathor exhaled slowly as Edmund closed the distance.

  “Still stubborn, I see.”

  He leveled his arm.

  Shadow and embers surged outward, twisting together into a vast, gaping maw. It lunged for Edmund in a roar of darkness, swallowing him whole.

  For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the swirling ball of shadow.

  Then lightning erupted from within.

  A blinding bolt tore through the shadow, striking Varhathor squarely and hurling him into the ground with a thunderous crash. The forest shuddered as rubble and ash exploded outward.

  The shadows peeled away and Edmund emerged, lightning crackling fiercely around him.

  Varhathor rose from the crater, smoke curling from his form. Without hesitation, he launched forward, blade poised.

  Edmund answered in kind.

  The prince surged onward to meet him, the impact from their blades colliding unleashed another shockwave that rippled through the forest, flattening trees and tearing the air apart.

  Varhathor’s smile never faltered despite Edmund matching him in power. “Would you like to wager whose body will falter first?”

  “Our lives aren’t yours to play with!” the prince screamed.

  Edmund wrenched his blade free and snapped it upward in a vicious arc. Lightning tore from the steel in a crescent wave, bright enough to bleach the forest white.

  The crescent crashed against his opponent, pushing him back, gouging trenches through the earth beneath his heels. At last, the wave broke apart in a storm of sparks and crackling air.

  When the light faded, Varhathor stood in the drifting smoke with only shallow cuts scored across his arms and shoulder, minor wounds that already hissed with shadow as they closed. He stared at Edmund the way a scholar might stare at a specimen, cold and calculating.

  Edmund’s shoulders rose and fell, breath ragged, lightning twitching along his forearms like a storm refusing to die.

  Varhathor’s smile returned, almost indulgent.

  “I thought you’d have more dignity than this, Saevnir,” he said, taking slow steps forward. “Your power wasn’t meant to be held to this extent by mortals.”

  Edmund didn’t answer.

  He only glared, eyes burning, grip whitening around the hilt.

  Saevnir’s voice cut through the tension, deep and unwavering.

  “Do not underestimate this boy, Tyrant,” the spirit warned. “His mind and body are stronger than you assume.”

  The amber light on Varhathor’s blade flickered brighter.

  “Is that so?” he murmured. Then his gaze sharpened, locking on Edmund like a knife finding the throat. “Shall we put it to the test, then?”

  The prince answered by flaring lightning around his sword, then charged at his opponent head on.

  ***

  Not too far from the battle, Damien and a handful of soldiers whipped their mounts into a desperate gallop.

  They weren’t only racing to reach Edmund.

  They were chasing someone else already ahead of them, her golden hair streaming behind her as a red cloak snapped like a banner in the wind. The moment Serena had heard where the prince headed and felt a cruel presence coming from the forest he had entered, she had rushed to the stables and mounted without a word.

  Now the sky itself seemed to churn above the treeline.

  Dark clouds spiraled low and fast, as if pulled into a single point. Gusts of wind slammed into the path hard enough to make the horses flinch. Within the forest, black smoke erupted in violent bursts, and lightning struck so close it lit the trunks in stark, bone-white flashes.

  Damien leaned low over his saddle and shouted, fighting the howl of the gale.

  “Stop and turn at once, Serena! It’s too dangerous!”

  Serena didn’t look back. She heard him anyway, whether from sheer proximity, or the way the wind carried his voice in broken pieces, she couldn’t tell. She only tightened her grip on the reins and drove her steed harder.

  “He needs our help!” she yelled over her shoulder. “He’s in danger!”

  “Then let us aid him and return to the palace!” Damien bellowed, pushing his own horse forward. “He wouldn’t want you charging into this, even if his own life is threatened!”

  Serena ignored him.

  This wasn’t just another threat. She could feel it much stronger now, an oppressive presence ahead, pressing through the air like a hand around the throat.

  And she had felt it before.

  Not in waking life, but in the nightmare she had torn herself out of.

  The darkness. The voices.

  That crushing despair and powerlessness all at once.

  But there was something else in the storm as well.

  Another presence, just as immense and real, threaded through the lightning and wind. It did not carry the same malice. It didn’t squeeze at her mind the way the first did. If anything, it felt… reassuring. Like a wall raised against a coming tide.

  “Hold on, Edmund,” she whispered to herself like a prayer. “Please… Creator, Protector… if you’re real, if you’re listening, please keep him safe.”

  Serena’s heart hammered.

  Two forces ahead clashed.

  One that made her blood run cold,

  and one that, somehow, steadied the fear just enough for her to keep riding.

  ***

  Back in the forest’s interior, Edmund and Varhathor’s blades continued to clash with raging fury. Each strike sent ripples through the air, lightning and cinders bursting outward, the earth cratering beneath their feet. This forest—nay, this kingdom—had never witnessed such a battle in all its history.

  But as the duel dragged on, the toll of being one with Saevnir began to catch up to Edmund.

  His breathing turned ragged. His limbs grew heavy. He was forced to halt, exhaustion locking his body in place, though his blade still refused to drop.

  Varhathor tilted his head, cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes.

  “It is pointless, Saevnir. You know it, whether you win here or not.”

  “You presume too much,” Saevnir replied coldly. “Was the failure of your last grand plan not remarkable enough that it still slips your memory?”

  For the first time, Varhathor’s smile faltered.

  He raised his palm.

  Smoke poured from his fingers and coalesced into the snarling head of a wolf, jaw widening, teeth of shadow sharpening into hooks. It shot forward and clamped onto Edmund’s shoulder.

  Edmund grunted as it bit down.

  The wolf-head yanked him across the ruined ground, dragging him straight toward Varhathor until they were only inches apart, breath to breath, gaze to gaze.

  Varhathor leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper as his eyes locked onto Edmund’s.

  “Failure?” he murmured, lips curling back into a smile. “I think not.”

  “You delayed the inevitable. Nothing more.” His grin sharpened. “Do not rejoice over a victory that was never within your reach.”

  He lingered a heartbeat, as if savoring the words.

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  “If anything,” Varhathor added, almost fondly, “it allowed me to enjoy this place a while longer.”

  Edmund’s hands trembled as he fought the grip around his shoulder, teeth clenched, trying to force himself upright.

  “What’s that?” Varhathor mused, watching him struggle. “Still refusing to—”

  He never finished.

  Edmund suddenly tilted his head back and drove his forehead forward with a brutal crack.

  Bone met bone.

  Varhathor staggered, the spectral wolf dispersed, his smile wiped clean as he tumbled back through the ash, boots tearing trenches into the dirt.

  Edmund flared with lightning again. Varhathor straightened where he stood.

  The prince drew more power into his blade, lightning coiling along the steel, winding tighter and tighter, before he hurled it forward in a roaring bolt.

  Varhathor met it with a burning wave of shadow.

  Lightning and darkness collided, grinding against one another in a violent stalemate. The air screamed as the opposing forces pushed back and forth, until both attacks finally collapsed in a thunderous detonation.

  Edmund dropped to one knee, breath tearing from his lungs.

  Varhathor glanced at him, then down at his own arms, faint cracks of dissipating energy crawling along them like dying veins, the wounds no longer healing.

  “This one will fail soon as well it seems,” he said calmly.

  He vanished into shadow.

  Edmund, still on one knee, barely had time to lift his head before Varhathor reappeared directly in front of him, blade already raised.

  “I suppose it’s time we end this,” Varhathor muttered.

  He brought the sword down, but before it could land,

  a blinding flash of light struck him mid-motion and hurled him backward. Varhathor skidded across the ground in a shower of ash and stone.

  He pushed himself upright and froze.

  His eyes widened, not in pain, but in unmistakable surprise.

  Edmund followed his gaze.

  A figure stood at the edge of the ruined clearing, light spilling around her like a living flame.

  “Serena…” Edmund breathed, disbelief catching in his throat. “Why—why are you here?”

  Varhathor narrowed his eyes.

  “How are you already awake?” he demanded, irritation bleeding through his composure. “Your mind is supposed to be sealed within—”

  “Tristan!”

  Serena’s voice cut through him.

  Her hands blazed with light, brighter than before, trembling with urgency.

  “Wake up!” she cried. “Fight him! Fight his control!”

  “Get out of here!” Edmund shouted. “It’s not safe!”

  “I know Tristan!” Serena shot back. “He’s not the kind to fall to this monster’s control!”

  Varhathor laughed as he rose to his feet, the sound low and humorless.

  “Look around you,” he said, spreading his arms slightly. “Look at all the lives Tristan’s hands have taken.”

  His gaze fixed on Serena, and the air around him darkened.

  “And since you’re already here,” he continued, voice stripped of all pretenses. “Allow me to throw you back into the Abyss.”

  Serena did not move.

  Varhathor prepared to strike.

  Then a crack of thunder split the air.

  Edmund hurled a bolt of lightning at him, forcing Varhathor to halt and throw up his hand. The energy slammed into his palm and burst apart in a violent flare.

  “I won’t let you hurt her!” Edmund roared, lunging forward despite the tremor in his limbs.

  Varhathor answered with a sweeping surge of shadow. The impact caught Edmund like a hammer and ground him backward across the scorched earth.

  Serena cried out and thrust her hands forward, loosing a blast of radiant energy.

  It shattered harmlessly against Varhathor’s guard.

  He stood unmoved between them, eyes blazing.

  “Do not presume,” he said coldly, “that a pair of inferior lifeforms like yourselves have any hope of rivaling one such as I.”

  Another wave of shadow erupted from him. Edmund was hurled across the clearing and slammed into the ruined ground hard enough to kick ash into the air.

  Varhathor turned immediately toward Serena, advancing with measured steps.

  “Perhaps I should take care of you first,” he murmured, “before ending this royal pest.”

  He flicked his hand.

  A compact blast struck the earth at Serena’s feet, an abrupt, vicious punch of force that detonated upward and sent her crashing onto her back.

  Edmund pushed himself up weakly, blood at his lips. “No… I won’t… let you…”

  Serena forced herself to her knees as Varhathor closed in. She lifted her gaze to him, not in fear, but resolve.

  “Don’t let him… end your dreams… Tristan,” she said softly.

  “The lands you… you wanted to see…” Her voice trembled, but it held. “The adventures… you wished… to go on…”

  Shadows began to curl around her like a closing fist.

  “Save your breath,” Varhathor said. “Prepare to return to—”

  His right arm jerked.

  The sword rose, then plunged,

  not toward Serena, but into his own left forearm.

  Varhathor froze, eyes snapping wide as the pain registered.

  Edmund and Serena stared, disbelief choking them both.

  “Fighting to regain control, are you?” Varhathor snarled as he tried to wrench the blade free.

  He tore it out, only for the arm to jerk again, slashing into his thigh.

  A sharp hiss escaped him, more irritation than agony.

  “Pestilent human,” he muttered through clenched teeth, forcing the weapon back under command. “Don’t you understand? You’ll only kill yourself if you keep doing that.”

  “Edmund!” Saevnir’s voice thundered. “Now! Strike him!”

  The prince forced himself upright, lightning surging despite the agony screaming through his body. He hurled the bolt forward.

  Varhathor snapped a wall of blazing shadow into place, but the impact drove him back a step, then another. The effortless power he wielded earlier refused to answer him cleanly now.

  Seeing the opening, Serena rose and unleashed a surge of golden light. The radiance crashed into Varhathor’s defenses, and this time they buckled.

  “Insolent maggots,” Varhathor snarled.

  “Leave Tristan’s body!” Edmund shouted back, voice raw.

  Varhathor’s left hand spasmed.

  Obsidian coalesced into a dagger in his grasp.

  Without hesitation, he drove it into his own right arm.

  The host body shuddered violently.

  “Stop it, Tristan!” Serena cried, then spun toward Edmund, panic sharpening her voice. “Prince!”

  Edmund met her eyes and nodded.

  Together, they released everything they had left.

  Azure lightning and golden light surged as one, raw, desperate, overwhelming Varhathor at last. The blast tore through the clearing, searing shadow into nothingness until there was nowhere for it to cling.

  When it was done, the two remained standing only by will, breath ragged, the air around them still crackling with fading power.

  Edmund turned at once and rushed to Serena. “Are you all right?”

  Serena met his gaze and gave a firm nod. “I am, Prince.”

  As the smoke thinned, something else came into view.

  Tristan.

  He lay on his back, motionless, his sword driven into his side.

  Edmund’s breath caught, dread flooding his chest. Serena froze beside him, horror tightening her expression.

  From Tristan’s lips, dark fluid seeped free before evaporating into nothing.

  Then a voice lingered in the air, smooth as a blade.

  “That was… somewhat entertaining,” Varhathor said lightly. “Although sadly, I lost the wager.”

  Edmund and Serena narrowed their gazes as the final wisps of shadow dispersed, leaving nothing behind but scorched earth and silence.

  Saevnir’s voice followed, resonant and unyielding.

  “Return to your crypt, Varhathor.”

  A faint, amused exhale echoed, almost a chuckle.

  “Enjoy your peaceful days while they last, Edmund,” Varhathor replied. “And that thing—”

  He paused. Deliberate. Dismissive.

  “I suppose we’ll let fate decide when you find out what that is.”

  His presence then vanished completely.

  Only the wind remained, and Tristan on the ground.

  With Varhathor finally gone, the clearing fell into silence.

  Edmund looked around, disoriented, taking in the scorched earth and the bodies of fallen men, until a sound broke through it.

  A weak, ragged gasp.

  His head snapped toward it.

  “Conrad,” Edmund called, stumbling into a run. He dropped to his knees beside the knight and seized his shoulder. “Conrad… wake up… please…”

  Edmund panicked, his voice hoarse. “Serena, can you still heal him?”

  Serena rushed to his side, breath catching as she knelt. She pressed her fingers to Conrad’s neck, searching desperately, again and again.

  She swallowed, then shook her head, brows knitting with grief.

  “Prince… I’m sorry,” she whispered. “His pulse is too weak. It’s beyond what I can do.”

  Edmund’s hands trembled.

  “Saevnir!” he cried, lifting his head as if the sky itself might answer him. “That’s your name, isn’t it? Please, help him!”

  A pause.

  Then Saevnir’s voice returned, quieter now, distant, thinning like the last breath of a storm.

  “I’m sorry, Edmund. There is… nothing left I can do.”

  Edmund turned back to Conrad, vision blurring.

  “Conrad… please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “We—we won. It’s over. You can wake up now. Please… wake up…”

  Conrad’s breathing slowed.

  And just before the last of him slipped away, his lips curved, only faintly into a smile. Not triumph.

  Only a quiet, final certainty… that the prince still lived.

  Edmund’s words dissolved into sobs, then stopped.

  For a moment he couldn’t accept it, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak,

  until something in him finally split, and he broke into tears.

  Serena stayed with him, her hand resting gently against his back until another sound cut through the quiet.

  A weak, shuddering gasp.

  Serena turned and saw Tristan struggling to breathe.

  She rushed to his side at once, pressing her fingers to his neck. Relief flickered across her face.

  “His pulse… it’s still strong,” she said, voice tight with urgency. Carefully, she gripped the hilt and pulled the blade from his side. She pressed her palms on his wound, her hands glowing with warm and gentle light. “Hang in there, Tristan. I can still save you.”

  Edmund looked up, eyes wide, then a flash of light erupted.

  Sound died. Wind ceased. Even the drifting ash hung motionless in the air.

  The world froze.

  “Edmund,” Saevnir’s voice called, calm and distant. “It is time we part ways.”

  The prince did not answer.

  “I am sorry,” Saevnir continued. “For your losses. I know what it is like… to lose those you value.”

  Edmund swallowed hard, throat burning.

  “Before… before you go,” he said hoarsely, “I need you to answer one question.”

  “What is it, Prince Edmund?”

  “Varhathor,” Edmund said, the name tasting like poison. “Tell me who he is. And where I can find him.”

  Silence.

  “Answer me,” Edmund pleaded. “Please, Saevnir.”

  “I understand how you feel, but—”

  “Tell me where he is!” Edmund shouted. “He has to pay!”

  “Listen to me well, Edmund. To seek him out is suicide. You cannot defeat him. Not as you are now.”

  “Not today. Not tomorrow.”

  “Not in this lifetime.”

  “He has to—” Edmund started again, fists clenched.

  “Edmund!” Saevnir cut in sharply. “Do not waste your men’s sacrifice.”

  Edmund halted, breath shaking.

  “Remember Conrad’s lesson,” Saevnir continued, quieter now. “Do not squander your soldiers’ sacrifice chasing death.”

  The light around them began to dim.

  “Swear it,” Saevnir said at last.

  “Swear on your family’s name that you will never seek Varhathor.”

  Edmund remained silent as the brightness continued to fade, the frozen world loosening at its edges.

  “Farewell, Prince of Aurelith. I hope… that we may meet again one day. You and—”

  A fragile warmth entered his voice, faltering into a whisper.

  “The girl beside you… and—”

  He couldn’t finish.

  The light vanished completely, taking his presence with it.

  The sky finally cleared once more.

  Edmund was left kneeling alone.

  His gaze fell to the fallen knight before him. Then it drifted farther, to Matthew’s lifeless body, and beyond that, to the other soldiers who would never rise again.

  The cost of victory lay scattered across the clearing.

  Then, another sound came.

  A faint groan.

  Edmund’s head snapped up.

  Not far away, Gualter lay slumped against the scorched ground, another soldier collapsed beside him. Both were still breathing, barely.

  Edmund surged to his feet and rushed to them.

  “Gualter!” he shouted, dropping to his knees at his side. “Gualter—are you… are you still—?”

  “Prince… Edmund…” Gualter groaned weakly, eyes barely able to open. “Are we… in the afterlife?”

  Edmund’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Serena!” he shouted.

  She had just finished sealing Tristan’s wounds when Edmund’s voice reached her. She turned at once and ran, light already gathering around her hands.

  She knelt beside Gualter and the other soldier without hesitation, pressing her palms down as warmth spread beneath her touch. Her lips moved in quiet, urgent murmurs as torn flesh knit together and shattered breathing slowly steadied.

  Edmund watched, hands clenched tight, afraid to breathe until he saw their chests rise again.

  Not long after, hurried footsteps approached.

  Damien emerged from the trees with several soldiers in tow, all of them breathless.

  “Highness…” Damien began, struggling to steady himself. “We tried to stop Serena from—”

  His words died as his gaze lifted.

  The clearing lay before him.

  Scorched earth, fallen men, shattered weapons, smoke still curling through the air.

  Damien went still.

  “…Gods… have mercy on us,” he whispered.

  “Damien!” Edmund called, his voice hoarse. “Get the horses. Gather everyone and take them back to the capital, now!”

  “Yes, sire!” Damien answered without hesitation. He turned sharply. “You heard him! Horses, move!”

  Despite their exhaustion, the soldiers obeyed at once, disappearing back into the forest.

  Serena remained kneeling beside Gualter, her hands glowing faintly as she worked.

  “Hang in there,” she whispered, tears streaking down her face. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

  More groans echoed around them, proof of life, fragile but real.

  The weight of it finally caught up to Edmund. His legs gave way, and he sank to the ground, caught somewhere between grief and overwhelming relief.

  Time blurred.

  When Damien returned with the horses, the clearing was quieter. Serena had stabilized those still breathing, her movements slower now, drained to the bone. The fallen were lifted gently. The wounded were helped onto saddles or supported between riders. One soldier had already been sent ahead at full speed to summon aid from the capital.

  Edmund remained where he was, watching in silence.

  As the survivors and the dead alike were carried away, the cost of victory settled fully upon him and the tears came again, unrestrained.

  Serena stayed with him, drawing him into an embrace gentle enough to remind him—

  he didn’t have to carry his grief alone.