The Mouthless King faltered, shadows flickering like dying candles across his face. For the first time, silence didn't cloak him—it cracked.
Rose's heart hammered in her chest as the battlefield around them held its breath. The Hollow Choir's eerie hum faded into an uneasy whisper.
Mortain steadied himself beside her, lightning simmering in his palms. "He's vulnerable," he said. "But only just."
Rose tightened her grip on the Bramble Fire, its warmth pulsing through her fingers like a second heartbeat. The fire wasn't just destruction—it was hope, wild and reckless and alive.
"We finish this," she whispered.
The King's eyes, dark pools without pupils, locked onto hers. For a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them—a clash of light and shadow, flame and silence.
Then he smiled. Not a cruel smile, but a sad one. "You burn too fiercely, witch. But even fire fades."
Rose grinned back, breathless. "Then I'll just have to burn brighter."
With a cry, she surged forward, Bramble Fire blazing in a tempest of orange and gold. Mortain surged after her, thunder roaring with every step.
The Choir shrieked, their voices fracturing under the strain. The King's form shimmered, fracturing like glass, but he did not fall.
Rose's flames wrapped around him like chains, searing silence into light.
But just as victory seemed within reach, the King's hand shot out, gripping her wrist. His touch was cold as the grave, and for a moment, the fire flickered.
"Burn with me," he whispered. "Together, we could end the pain."
The temptation was sharp—sweet relief from endless war.
But Rose's eyes blazed with defiance. "I choose to fight."
With a surge, she twisted free, sending a blast of fire into the sky.
The King howled—soundless, but filled with rage.
Behind her, Mortain struck, lightning crackling like a battle hymn.
Together, fire and storm collided with shadow and silence.
The battle raged on—unbroken, unyielding, and full of impossible hope.