We pressed on into the black tunnel, torchlight flickering somewhere up ahead, casting ragged shadows on slick stone. The smell of rot and old blood hit me like a punch. Sora's magic thrummed at my side—my only tether in the dark—and without Arden here to anchor us, I felt untethered too. I stole a glance at Sora: her hair plastered to her forehead, lips pressed tight. Every so often her hand twitched toward where we'd last seen him, like she was reaching for a ghost.
Seraphina halted at a fork. "Left," she said, voice flat. "That's where they broke through."
I shot Sora a quick look; she gave me a tiny nod. Then we slipped down the left passage, our boots echoing in the emptiness.
Halfway through, a distant roar shook the tunnel. Claws scraped the stone—closer now.
"Get ready," Seraphina murmured.
Two hulking beasts lunged from the shadows. My heart slammed as their glowing eyes locked onto us. Every instinct screamed 'run'—but I couldn't move. They charged in a blind, slavering tide.
Sora stepped forward, fingers weaving a silent chant. Water spiraled up around the beasts, dragging them to a halt, then fractured into razor‑sharp shards that hammered into bone. The first beast screamed and collapsed. The second staggered but surged again, snapping through the mist.
My throat went dry. "Sora—"
She was already moving. From the puddle at our feet she summoned a coiling serpent of water that wrapped around the creature's muzzle and tore it free from its jaw. The beast staggered, gore dripping, then keeled over with a choked moan.
Sora's chest rose and fell in harsh gasps. "Sorry," she whispered, voice raw.
Seraphina didn't even blink. Her sword swept in a single, graceful arc—and the second beast went down, eyes dimming like dying lanterns.
I pressed a hand over my mouth. "That was—"
"Necessary," Seraphina cut in, voice cool but not unkind. "Move."
The tunnel spat us out into a shattered plaza. Torches burned beside toppled statues; splintered carts lay scattered like broken toys. In the center stood a woman in pale robes embroidered with blood‑red sigils.
She turned, lit by flickering flame. Raven‑black hair tumbled in waves around a face set in calm amusement. In her hand she held a slender staff topped with a ruby heart pulsing with dark energy.
"Welcome," she said, voice smooth and cold as marble. "I am Love, herald of our Demon Lord."
My stomach flipped. "Love?" The name twisted in my mouth.
She smiled—an elegant curve that didn't reach her eyes. "Irony suits me," she said. "You can thank Arden for my debut." With that, the ruby atop her staff flared, bathing us in red half‑light.
Sora's grip tightened on my sleeve. No hesitation in her eyes—only fierce resolve. Even without Arden here, she would stand.
Love raised her other hand. "Let us test your loyalty—to your friends, your empire, your precious Light."
The plaza erupted. Cultists poured from the rubble, chanting in guttural tongues; beasts slithered from the shadows. Love's staff sang with sorcery, sending rings of flaming hearts spinning across the stones.
Seraphina drew her sword. "Behind me," she ordered, voice steady.
I swallowed hard and nodded, heart hammering. Sora summoned water lances that arced around her like silent sentinels.
Dark petals of infernal energy burst from Love's staff, blotting out the torchlight in a deadly bloom.
The monster's shriek still rang in the air as Love turned her full attention toward us—toward Sora.
I tried to move.
Gods, I wanted to. Just one step. Just something. But I stayed where I was, pressed to the pillar like it was the only thing keeping me upright.
My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to scream.
Maybe I wasn't built for this. Maybe all I'd ever be was a spectator in someone else's story.
Just once, I thought, I wish I could be the one who helps. Not the one who gets protected. Not the one who watches.
And somehow, she heard that.
Love's staff pulsed again. Not with power this time, but intention—like a needle finding a vein. The ruby flared, and the shadows around her eyes deepened with understanding.
"A little thing full of longing," she murmured, almost fond. "How charming. Always behind them, aren't you? Watching. Wanting. Wishing you were something more."
Then her gaze slid past me, and she smiled wider.
"And you," she said, eyes on Sora, "such strong little walls you've built. But you miss him, don't you?"
Sora didn't answer. She just stared, fingers curling, magic hissing faintly in the air around her like a tide pulled tight.
The air shimmered.
And Arden stepped into view.
Not the real one. He would've walked slower. He never rushed. And this one... this one had hollowness behind his eyes. Like someone had sculpted him from memory but forgot the warmth.
"Sora," he said. Flat. Calm. His usual tone.
No sharpness, no bite. Just… Arden.
But not him.
"I left because I knew you'd be fine. You don't need me, right?" A smile. "You're strong enough on your own."
Sora stared.
Her magic thinned for a heartbeat, like she didn't trust her own fingers.
"You've done enough," the illusion added. "Go back. It's safer without me."
A whisper of pain crossed her face.
But then she blinked, and her jaw set.
"You're not—" She blinked. "You're not him."
"Of course I am," Love whispered through his mouth. "Didn't you want to hear him say it?"
He laughed. "Funny, the words always sound sweeter when they're hollow, don't they?"
Sora's magic faltered. Just for a moment. The water shivered midair.
And that moment was enough.
The monster lunged.
It crashed forward, a shrieking mass of limbs and hunger—but before it could reach us, Seraphina moved.
Her blade cleaved through one of its legs in a blur of white steel and holy light, and the beast reeled back, howling. She landed beside us, cloak torn and streaked with blood.
"Don't listen to her," Seraphina snapped. "It's a trick. A parlor game."
Love's focus shifted, and the world tightened.
She reached deeper.
"Ahh," she said, voice silk over steel, "and what's this? Even you have someone."
And then he was there, too.
Radames Antoun. Emperor of the Dalthun Empire. Cloak lined in royal crimson, hand resting on the hilt of his khopesh, eyes soft with that maddening confidence he always wore like a second skin. The illusion caught everything—his easy posture, the way he looked at Seraphina like she was just another trusted soldier.
"Seraphina," he said gently, "you've done enough. Come home."
She didn't move.
"You've been strong for long enough," he said, that same lightness in his voice. "Let it go."
Seraphina stared. For a long, long second, the illusion almost worked.
It had been a while.
Even earlier that day, when she'd seen him—when they shared that short, stiff conversation before dinner—he hadn't said anything like this. Not really.
She'd smiled. He'd smiled. But they both knew the gulf between them had grown.
Her knuckles tightened around her blade.
Then she sighed.
"You're about a day too late for that line," she said.
The illusion Radames blinked.
She stepped forward, blade tip dragging sparks from the stone, and slashed clean through the image.
It dispersed like mist in sunlight.
Love's breath hitched.
"I see it now," she said, eyes narrowing. "He used you. Gave you scraps. And still you kneel."
She stood tall, eyes blazing. "I don't kneel. I serve."
She raised her sword. Her voice sharpened.
"He trusted me with this mission. I know what that means. Even if he forgets sometimes."
Her feet shifted. Her stance widened.
"I won't fail."
Love bared her teeth. Not a smile this time—frustration. The air sparked again, red glyphs swirling up her arms like angry veins.
Sora wiped her face. Her hands were shaking, but she raised them again. "That wasn't him," she said, quietly. "And you'll never be him."
She inhaled once, the breath rattling in her throat. Then her magic surged—no longer a whisper, but a scream. The water obeyed, not as a river or a wave, but as vengeance given form. A dozen spears, glinting like polished glass, rose around her—and they launched forward like a storm of judgment.
Love's illusion shattered completely as she fell back, snarling, staff raised to deflect—but even she had to dodge.
A half-snarled illusion twisted toward Sora's exposed back. Something human-shaped, but wrong—its limbs bending like tangled reeds, too many teeth spread across too wide a smile.
Sora didn't see it.
And neither did Seraphina.
And I—
I moved.
I didn't think. My hand darted to the rubble at my feet and closed around a fist-sized chunk of broken masonry, sharp-edged and still warm from the sun. I flung it.
It missed.
By a lot.
But the noise—the sharp crack of stone bouncing off another pillar—was enough. Sora's head jerked up, and the water at her side shifted, a blade of it cleaving cleanly through the illusion before it could lunge. The thing shrieked, splintered into motes of light, and faded.
My breath hitched.
I'd done it. I'd actually done something. It didn't matter that I'd missed. It mattered that I'd moved.
But I didn't get to bask in that pathetic sliver of pride.
Three more illusions turned toward me. Hungry. I could feel it—like heat on the skin, like pressure in my ears. Their faces were blank now, no masks of familiarity. Just snarling voids and reaching claws.
I ran.
They gave chase, feet hammering against stone as fast as mine. I ducked beneath a swing—felt the wind of it stir my hair—and staggered forward, off balance. The next claw raked across my shoulder. Pain bloomed. Not deep, but bright. Real. Very real.
I yelped and rolled behind a fallen statue, sucking air through my teeth. My legs trembled. My heart stuttered in my chest like a broken drum.
They were faster than me.
That was the cruel truth screaming in my lungs as I scrambled backward. The illusions didn't tire. They didn't stumble. And I could already feel the wound on my shoulder slowing me down, numbing my fingers.
One of them lunged.
I had nothing.
No sword. No shield. No plan.
Just a single, raw thought that slammed through my panic like lightning:
I don't want to die.
I threw my hands up—not to fight, but to flinch—
And something snapped.
A pulse. Like a crack in my chest. Like fire under my skin.
Light flared in front of me.
Thwack—!
The creature's claw struck something. Not me.
A thin shimmer of golden light hung in the air like cracked glass. It spiderwebbed on impact, humming with energy, and then shattered into glittering dust.
I landed hard on my back, staring up at the empty space where I should've been split open.
I'd made a shield.
I—I made a shield.
It hadn't lasted more than a second, but it had been there. Real. Solid. Mine.
Another step and it would've had me. It should have had me.
Instead, I had light.
Not Arden. Not Seraphina. Not Sora.
Me.
I stared at my hand.
It was shaking. My whole arm was. My fingertips burned. And that light—it was gone already. Flickered out like a match.
Another one came at me.
I tried again. Threw my hand up, reached inside myself, tried to feel that same pull—
Nothing.
No spark. No shove. Just my breath wheezing in my throat and the thud of its footsteps coming closer.
I scrambled backward, boots slipping on shattered tile. "No—no, no—"
This time, I didn't reach. I didn't think. I just screamed.
Not words. Not a spell. Just sound, raw and loud and mine.
The thing hesitated. Just a blink. But in that blink, Seraphina's sword punched through its head from behind.
The illusion crumpled without drama. No light show. Just silence.
She didn't look at me. Just ripped her blade free and turned to face the next.
I was still on the floor. Breathing hard. My hands tingled. My shoulder throbbed. But I wasn't dead.
"Get up," she said, voice calm, as if we were in a training yard and not surrounded by things that wanted to rip out our insides.
"I—" I started, shaking.
Her hand shot down and yanked me up by my collar one-handed. She was strong. Stupidly strong.
"No time. Move your legs or lose them."
She turned without another word, already charging the next group of illusions with brutal grace. Her blade arced with the precision of a dancer, but her strength was anything but delicate—each swing turned specters into dust and shattered ground beneath her feet.
She couldn't cast spells.
But gods, she didn't need to.
I staggered upright, legs wobbling. My breathing was ragged. My thoughts a mess. But beneath the panic, beneath the bone-deep terror…
There was a spark.
A light.
Faint, flickering—but real.
Magic.
My magic.
Love didn't give Sora any time to breathe. The cultist's eyes flared, seething with fury as a jagged glyph scrawled itself into the air—crooked and twitching like it had been drawn in blood. Behind her, black tendrils unraveled into spiked whips—six of them—twisting like serpents before lashing toward Sora.
She moved without thinking. Her arms swept up, and wind howled in a rising spiral, forming a dome—thin, sharp, and clear as glass. One of Arden's drills. A whip struck it.
The barrier cracked.
Another hit. Then another. The sound came in bursts—slaps and howls layered over the hiss of pressure escaping through invisible seams. Her boots scraped backward across the stone. The shield was holding—but only just.
Water gathered at her feet, curling up her legs like a second skin. One lash made it through and tore across her thigh. She hissed, staggered—but didn't fall. She gritted her teeth and poured more mana into the barrier, this time weaving wind and water together. The result was clumsy, raw, unstable.
But it worked.
Wind and water. An uncommon pair. Unreliable. But strangely beautiful.
Love raised her staff again—too slow.
The air split with a thunderclap as Sora threw her palms forward. "Aqua Gale Reaver!"
The whip shattered against it with a final, violent crack—and the spell detonated. Wind burst outward in a spiral, scattering embers and smoke. Sora stood panting, blood running down her leg, mana burning low.
Love sneered and stepped forward. "You think you're special? Mixing elements like it's a game?" Her staff spun once. "You're nothing."
Sora's breath shook—but her hands were already moving. Another glyph formed behind her, slower this time. Finer. Golden lines etched with crimson burned through the air like fire-brands.
"No," she said quietly. "I'm not nothing."
She drew in a deep, steadying breath—and reached.
Not inward. Outward.
Arden.
Nothing.
Too far. The warmth she'd come to rely on was dim now. A candle behind fogged glass.
But the spell—his spell—was carved into her. It didn't need him.
It remembered.
Her hands moved with a strange, quiet precision. Like a prayer. Water coiled around her arms. Light spilled from her fingers. Fire bloomed along the glyph, climbing like a pair of horns.
She slammed her hands together.
"Twin Dragon."
The floor cracked beneath her.
Magic screamed.
Two dragon heads exploded from the glyph—vast, radiant, and alive. One shimmered with sapphire scales and rising steam, eyes burning cold. The other blazed golden, its breath seething with solar flame. They coiled around each other midair, spiraling upward, until a third light pulsed between them—light magic, dense and blinding, fusing them into one.
The construct roared—a sound made of many voices—and surged forward.
Love tried to raise her staff.
Too late.
The dragon's maw met her like a divine hammer.
It wasn't a spell.
It was judgment.
It struck like a falling star.
The underground plaza vanished in steam and fire. The blast tore through the illusions, sent dust flying in every direction. Even Seraphina had to brace herself. I hit the ground again, arms over my head, ears ringing.
When I looked up—
The dragon was gone.
Only ash and glowing embers drifted down, like snow lit from within.
Sora knelt at the center of it all. Breathing hard. Shaking. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, blood, and light. Her mana shimmered faintly around her, like frost catching the morning sun. She could barely lift her head.
But she was still standing.
And Love—
Love was gone.
At least… I hoped she was.