The fortress rose like a wound carved into the land—black stone, jagged and unnatural, shrouded in a constant veil of mist. Its walls pulsed with shadows, and the sky above it churned like a storm held barely at bay.
Caelen crouched in the treeline, heart pounding, his curse roaring in his ears.
The pain within the walls was overwhelming. Dozens of souls, writhing in despair, their hope snuffed out. But one burned brighter than the rest—a storm he knew by heart.
Elira.
Muted, yes. But alive.
He moved.
Slipping through the gates like a ghost, he gripped the Weeping Blade tight. The air reeked of decay and cruelty, and the guards—if they could still be called that—were hollow-eyed husks. Their humanity had been bled from them, their emotions scoured away.
They did not speak.
They only attacked.
Caelen met them with steel and sorrow. Each blow was swift, final. His curse flared with their last fragments of pain, but he welcomed it. If nothing else, he could grant them freedom from this living death.
He reached the dungeon.
The air was damp and foul, the stone slick with time and neglect. At the end of the corridor, behind rusted bars and heavy chains, she sat—head bowed, wrists bound, her flame a flicker on the verge of being lost.
"Elira," he whispered.
Her head lifted slowly. Her face was pale, smudged with blood and dust. Her eyes met his, but they were distant. Clouded.
"You came," she said, voice hollow.
Caelen stepped inside, broke the chains with trembling hands. "Of course I did. I told you—I'd find you."
She swayed as he helped her stand. She didn't resist, but her steps were slow, mechanical. Her presence within his curse was faint—a dull throb, not the fire he'd once known.
They made their way through the corridors in silence, shadows melting around them. He fought off what remained of the fortress's defenders, shielding her with everything he had left.
When they emerged into the night, the wind hit his face like a slap of cold truth.
She was free.
But she was not whole.
Elira followed him, but her silence was louder than any cry. The enemy hadn't just captured her—they had broken something sacred.
And for the first time, Caelen's heart ached not from the curse, but from a deeper fear:
That even in saving her, he had lost her.