Chapter 62 #2
It wasn’t just a nod—it was a vow.
A yielding to her—a silent affirmation of what he’d just laid bare.
He pushed himself up on shaky legs. And then he was moving, cutting, slicing through the swell, through the chaos, through everything that separates.
And she knew.
Without a word spoken. Without a single promise uttered, she knew.
He would follow her.
Wherever she would lead, he would be right behind.
Elara dropped the barrier and ran. The world funneled into a narrow tunnel of sound and motion, her blood roaring in her ears.
The ground churned beneath her feet, slick with mud and darker stains.
Bodies jostled her, soldiers barreled past, but she didn’t stop.
She sprinted, every breath a jagged knife in her lungs.
Her heart was a fierce, broken beat. Mending and shattering and tearing apart again with every step closer to him.
Reynnar’s gaze snapped to hers, even as his blade tore through the Legion with brutal precision.
Concern flickered across his face as his eyes darted to Ivan, but his jaw tightened, focus hardening like steel.
A soldier lunged—he cut him down. Another fell, then another, blood spraying through the air.
Between strikes, his eyes found hers again, a silent tether pulling him closer.
With a final swing, he carved a path and broke toward her, closing the distance.
They fell into a rhythm—a deadly choreography as he turned with her, blade flashing, fire snapping out to clear her path. Bodies fell in scorched heaps behind them.
Elara skidded to a stop—nearly colliding with Ivan.
Dark vines snaked across his face, claiming him inch by inch. He swayed, barely upright, shadows pooling beneath him like a spreading stain.
A weight pressed against her chest—her heart cracking—but she didn’t look away.
She gripped Ivan’s face, fingers trembling against skin already cold. She bit her lip until blood filled her mouth.
“You want that drop, Hunter. So badly," Sybil had said. "A single drop, and all is undone.”
A single drop.
That’s all it would have taken.
All he’d needed. And he’d never seized it. Never even asked. He had chosen silence. Sacrifice. Death—rather than becoming someone who would take from her.
So, she kissed him.
The warmth of her blood spilled between them, searing against his lifeless skin.
His chest jolted.
His eyes flew open. Pupils blown wide. Ivan hadn’t been breathing, but suddenly, he was gasping. His arms were around her, pulling her close, his tongue slipping against hers desperately.
The kiss was consuming, grounding—claiming. Elara closed her eyes and inside, there was only the rhythmic beating of two hearts trying to synchronize, two souls attempting to find their shared rhythm again.
And for a timeless, breathless moment, they did.
But then he pulled back, shadows slipping away, fading into him as his eyes cleared, focus sharpening.
His gaze swept over the chaos, catching on Reynnar, the flickering fires, the scattered bodies, then back to her.
And when he looked at her—really looked—something softened.
He leaned in, brushing his lips against hers, so gently, so achingly tender that it cut straight through her, drawing tears to her eyes.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I had to do that. One last time.”
Elara’s brow knitted, confusion stirring as she tried to piece together his words. But then he reached down, fingers curling around her own, around the Wound of Light, and with one swift motion, he tore open a rift. “Go.”
Her heart lurched, an icy stillness filling her chest. “You’re coming with me.”
But he only looked at her, that quiet finality in his eyes. “No, Elara. I’m not.”
Ivan’s hands found her waist, and before she could even react, he shoved her backward.
The world fractured, the Pit falling away as she stumbled into the rift, swallowed by the Void. Darkness pressed in, vast and cold, but just ahead, she saw it—a sliver of light.
The door to Tír na nóg
She’d left it wide open.
Wide-eyed, Elara twisted to look back, reaching for him, but he was already pushing Reynnar in, his expression fierce. “Take care of her.”
Her heart stilled, suspended mid-beat, as her gaze locked on him. Shadows flooded the prison, thick and ravenous, coiling around Osin as he strode toward Ivan. The wound she’d carved into his chest was fully sealed, his rage radiating outward, consuming everything in its path.
He moved like a curse, a force of destruction. Soldiers fell in heaps, necks snapping with sickening finality as he tore through anyone who dared cross his path—even his own men were not spared his fury.
“Don't do this!” she screamed as the shadows reached for Ivan, coiling around him, tightening.
He didn’t flinch.
Shadows surged from his hand, a tidal force driving her and Reynnar deeper into the Void. A scream ripped through her—a fractured, wild thing, clawing for something already lost.
Reynnar’s arms locked around her as they were dragged down, spiraling faster, bodies tumbling like debris in a storm. She reached for Ivan, desperate—but his face was already fading, swallowed by Osin’s shadows, until only his eyes remained, dimming beneath the crushing dark.
They broke through the gate, the Void spitting them out in a sudden rush of light. Together, Elara and Reynnar tumbled onto the other side, breathless and battered, into the wild, green expanse of Tír na nóg.