The amulet's chain hung loose around Elara's wrist, its silver links dull and lifeless. For the first time since the tomb, she could move without feeling its weight—without feeling him.
She flexed her fingers, half-expecting the bond to snap back into place. It didn't.
Kael stood a few paces away, the silver crown still resting on his brow. His blackfire had faded, but the air around him crackled with residual energy, like the calm after a storm.
Elara eyed him warily. "How do you feel?"
He reached up, touching the crown's edge. "Like I've swallowed a star."
The words were light, but his voice was strained. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the faint tremor of his fingers. The crown was a burden, not a gift.
Just like the amulet had been.
She stepped closer. "We need to get that thing off you."
Before he could respond, the ground shuddered.
The ruins of the Amaranthine City began to collapse.
The white stones turned to dust beneath their feet. The sky, once a swirl of crimson and gold, fractured like broken glass, revealing the void beyond.
Elara grabbed Kael's arm. "Run!"
They sprinted through the disintegrating streets, dodging falling debris and gaping chasms. The dead were gone, the god-king's throne reduced to rubble, but the city itself seemed determined to take them with it.
A spire crashed down in front of them, blocking their path. Kael didn't hesitate. He raised his hand, and blackfire surged forth, carving a molten path through the stone.
Elara didn't have time to marvel at the display. She could feel the ground giving way behind them, the world unraveling at their heels.
Then—light.
A doorway, shimmering like a mirage at the end of the street.
The exit.
They lunged for it together.
The light swallowed them whole.
When it faded, they were back in the tomb—the real tomb, with its crumbling pillars and ancient runes. The Void Mirror lay in pieces at their feet, its surface dull and lifeless.
Elara sucked in a breath. The air was musty, thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. It was real.
They were home.
Or close enough.
Kael swayed on his feet, the crown's weight clearly taking its toll. Elara caught him before he could fall, her arms looping under his shoulders.
"Easy," she muttered. "Don't go dying on me now."
He chuckled weakly. "Wouldn't dream of it, banshee."
She helped him sit against the wall, then knelt beside him, examining the crown. Up close, it was even more unsettling—the silver was etched with tiny, intricate runes, each one pulsing faintly with a light that matched the amulet's chain.
Elara frowned. "This isn't just a crown. It's part of the amulet."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "What?"
She pointed to the runes. "See these markings? They're the same as the ones on the chain. The amulet, the crown—they're two halves of the same thing."
His expression darkened. "Which means?"
"Which means," Elara said slowly, "we didn't just break the god-king's hold on us. We stole a piece of his power."
And power like that always came with a price.
As if in response, the amulet's chain twitched.
Elara hissed as the links tightened around her wrist, the silver growing warm—then hot. The pain was brief but sharp, like a brand searing into her skin.
When it faded, the chain was no longer loose.
It had changed.
The links had fused into a single, seamless band, the runes now glowing a faint, steady blue. And the mark on her palm—the one that bound her to Kael—had spread, curling up her forearm like a vine.
Kael's hand was the same. His mark mirrored hers, the inky tendrils creeping toward his elbow.
He flexed his fingers, watching the way the markings shifted with his movement. "This isn't a curse anymore."
Elara nodded. "It's something else."
A bond.
A promise.
And, perhaps, a weapon.
The tomb's silence was shattered by a sound they both knew too well—the scrape of steel against stone.
Someone was coming.
Elara was on her feet in an instant, her dagger drawn. Kael forced himself upright, though the effort clearly pained him.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.
"—said the explosion came from here," a man's voice said.
"Then we'd better hurry," a second voice replied. "If the Silverthorn heir is dead, the contract's void."
Elara's blood ran cold.
Hunters.
And they were here for her.
Kael met her gaze, his expression grim. "Options?"
She bared her teeth in a smile. "Kill them all."
He nodded, the crown on his brow gleaming faintly. "Finally, something simple."
Then the door burst open, and the fight began.