The world tilted.
For one breathless moment, Wren stood with her hands clasped in two very different ones—Cassian's, rough and calloused, the hand of a warrior; and Veylan's, cool and elegant, pulsing with shadow. The magic between them surged and twisted, heat clashing with cold, fire tangled in night. And at the center of it all, her heart beat like a war drum.
Wren opened her eyes.
Cassian was staring at her like she was the only moon in his sky, his thumb trembling against the back of her hand. Veylan's golden eyes, ever unreadable, had softened into something almost reverent.
"This can't last," she whispered, voice hoarse. "Not like this."
"Then end it," Veylan said calmly. "Or choose it."
Cassian flinched. "You want her to choose now? She's not ready."
"I'm not yours to speak for," Wren cut in sharply. "Neither of you get to decide how fast I move."
Veylan inclined his head slightly. Cassian lowered his gaze. For once, the clearing was quiet—not with peace, but with a fragile, suspended truce.
Her magic pulsed again, drawing faint wisps of light into the space between their palms. She had never done this before—linked to two power sources at once, pulled in opposite directions. It should've ripped her apart.
Instead, it focused her.
Her heart was still in pieces. But her power? That was beginning to take form.
"I need time," she said softly. "And I need your help. Both of you."
Veylan blinked. Cassian's brows drew together.
"To do what?" Cassian asked.
Wren stepped back and let go of their hands, breaking the triangle of energy. "To end what's coming. There's something darker stirring in the East. My coven sent word last night. Entire villages are disappearing—no signs of a fight. No bodies."
Veylan went still. "Shadowflame."
Cassian tensed. "I thought it was a myth."
"It's not," Wren said. "And whatever it is, it's feeding on magic. On bloodlines. Witches. Wolves. It doesn't care."
The wind picked up, tossing her hair around her face. "I can't fight it alone."
"You won't," Veylan said immediately.
Cassian nodded, jaw tight. "You have me. No matter what."
She looked between them—two men she could burn for, two men who could destroy her just as easily.
But this wasn't about them. Not anymore.
This was about survival. About the people who still trusted her. About rising into the storm.
The next few days passed in a blur of preparation.
Wren's cottage became a makeshift war room. Maps littered the table, ancient texts on forbidden magic stacked beside hand-drawn sigils. The air smelled like ink, parchment, steel, and fire.
Cassian drilled with the village wolves in the clearing each morning, shirtless and sweating, his movements precise and brutal. Wren tried not to stare—but failed often.
Veylan, in contrast, taught her to weave shadow into her spells, creating illusions so lifelike they could fool even the wind. His touch on her hands was patient, lingering a moment too long, his praise always soft—Brilliant, Wren. Again.
Every moment with them was a slow burn.
Every touch, every glance, every pause between breaths—it all pressed against the choice she refused to make.
On the fifth night, Wren couldn't sleep.
She stepped out into the night air, wrapping her cloak tight, and wandered toward the river. It had always calmed her—flowing water, cool and endless, like time itself.
She wasn't surprised when Cassian found her first.
"You used to come here after every spell gone wrong," he said quietly, stepping beside her.
"I still do," she replied, not looking at him.
"I never stopped watching. Even when I pushed you away."
"That makes it worse."
He flinched but nodded. "I know."
They stood in silence. Then he turned to her.
"I loved you even when I rejected you."
She finally met his eyes. "You broke me, Cassian."
He stepped closer. "Then let me help you put the pieces back together."
She didn't answer. Didn't move. His hand brushed hers, fingers tangling.
And still, she didn't pull away.
Later, back at the cottage, she found Veylan waiting—reading one of her spellbooks by candlelight.
"You were with him."
It wasn't a question.
She nodded.
"I'm not angry," he said, closing the book gently. "But I am… tired of pretending I don't care."
He crossed the room in two strides, his presence like smoke and moonlight. "When I look at you, Wren, I don't see what you used to be. I see everything you're becoming."
His hand lifted to her cheek. "And I want to stand beside that. Even if it means sharing you. Even if it means losing."
Wren's breath caught. "Veylan…"
He kissed her.
Not demanding. Not possessive. Just real.
And for a heartbeat, she let herself fall into it.
But she stepped away before it became more.
"I can't choose yet," she said.
"You don't have to," he replied. "But when you do—I'll be here. Or I won't. That's up to you."
The next morning, the warning came.
One of the eastern scouts returned—bloodied, wide-eyed, dying.
"They're… already here," he choked out before collapsing.
The Shadowflame had breached the border.
The village fell into chaos.
Wren summoned the wolves, the witches, the rogues who owed her favors. Cassian called his pack warriors. Veylan opened a shadowgate, calling for allies from the Night Realm.
But they had hours. Maybe less.
Wren stood at the center of it all, her hair braided back, spellstones laced through her sleeves, magic flickering around her like a living flame. She wasn't the scorned girl anymore. She was power. She was fury.
She was their only chance.
Cassian approached, sword at his hip. "When this is over…"
"Don't," she said, turning to him. "Let's survive first."
He gave her a crooked smile. "Still the fiercest girl I've ever known."
Then he kissed her again—fast, wild, as if it might be the last time.
When he pulled back, Veylan was there.
He didn't say a word. Just pressed a vial into her hand.
"For strength," he said. "And clarity."
She touched his wrist briefly. "Thank you."
Then the sky cracked open.
The battlefield was a nightmare.
Black smoke curled in the air like hungry serpents. The ground shuddered with every step of the approaching darkness.
And at the front stood Wren—flanked by Cassian and Veylan, their magic linked through her veins like twin rivers feeding the same fire.
The Shadowflame emerged—a creature of ash and bone, with hollow eyes and tendrils of nothingness spilling from its chest.
It spoke no words.
It simply raised a hand—and the world screamed.
Wren threw up a barrier, flames bursting from her palms, reinforced by Cassian's earth-bound strength and Veylan's shadows. The impact cracked the sky, lightning splitting across the clouds like veins.
Then chaos.
Fangs. Steel. Fire. Blood.
Wren moved like a storm, her spells singing in ancient tongues. Cassian fought beside her, blades spinning in arcs of silver. Veylan's magic coiled through the enemy ranks like a living shadow, tearing apart whatever dared approach her.
She was everywhere.
Screaming.
Burning.
Rising.
At the height of the battle, the Shadowflame reached for her—its hand a void, its hunger infinite.
Wren screamed—and both men moved as one.
Cassian threw himself in front of her, taking the brunt of the blast.
Veylan surged forward, shadows shielding her body.
She screamed their names, magic exploding from her in a radiant pulse of raw, blinding gold.
The Shadowflame recoiled—just enough.
She drove her spellstone dagger into its chest.
Light met dark.
And the thing that had haunted her dreams… dissolved.
The field went silent.
And then Cassian fell.
"Cassian!" she dropped to her knees, hands over the wound in his side.
"I'm okay," he gasped. "Hurts like hell, but… I'm okay."
Veylan knelt beside them, eyes scanning, hands already weaving healing runes.
"You idiot," he muttered. "You didn't have to take the hit."
Cassian gave a weak grin. "She's worth it."
Wren's heart thudded, the adrenaline fading. She looked between them—bloodied, bruised, alive.
She had nearly lost everything.
But she hadn't.
Not yet.
That night, she stood alone again beneath the stars. But this time, they found her quickly.
Cassian, moving slower, sat on her left.
Veylan, quiet as always, stood on her right.
They didn't speak.
They didn't need to.
She took both their hands again.
And this time, she didn't let go.
Not because she couldn't choose.
But because, for now, they chose her.
And for now, that was enough.