Chapter 50
Leo
Thorne was a shadow before a flame.
For one suspended moment, he stood alone at the edge of the dock—shoulders squared, spine unbending, as if he could hold back the entire world with nothing but will and steel.
Around him, fire bloomed in the distance, casting gold and crimson across the churning sea. The flames from the battlefield behind him painted the sky in smoke and ash—but he didn’t move.
He faced the oncoming army with a single drawn sword, its edge catching the firelight like it knew this would be its final song.
And still, he stood. Unmoving. Unyielding.
I saw him clash with Vasquez—steel against steel. It was fierce, fast—but brief. Vasquez had never been one to finish his own battles.
He stepped back.
And then—the Sentinels swarmed.
One after another, blades raised, faces blank behind their masks. Like a tide of death rushing toward a single rock.
And Thorne met them head-on.
Not with fear. Not with retreat.
But with the quiet finality of a man who already knew how this ended.
From the boat, I watched with Elira in my arms.
She didn’t scream.
She didn’t sob.
She just rocked—slow and hollow—like something inside her had come undone and slipped away.
Her eyes were vacant. Her fingers clenched white-knuckled into my shirt.
I wanted to tear the boat apart. Swim back. Burn the whole godsdamn world if it meant getting him out. But I didn’t move. I just held her.
And all we could do was watch him disappear.