The air crackled like a storm trapped in a jar. All around, the battlefield seemed frozen between heartbeats — warriors mid-swing, spells half-cast, debris hovering in the air. Only three figures moved: Altharion, his sword ablaze with ethereal fire; Serenya, clutching the fractured Orb; and the Veil Warden, a shifting silhouette with no true face, only a mask of silver light.
The Warden's voice slithered into their minds. "You've forced the breach… but the price is always blood."
Altharion tightened his grip on the hilt, feeling the weapon's pulse match his own heartbeat. "Then let it be mine."
Before the Warden could respond, Serenya thrust the Orb forward. Its surface, once smooth and perfect, now spiderwebbed with cracks, released streams of raw light into the frozen air. The ground beneath them buckled, and reality itself seemed to warp. Behind the Warden, the Veil split open — a jagged wound revealing an endless black void streaked with rivers of starlight.
"That's… not supposed to happen," Serenya whispered.
The Warden's form flickered violently. "You've destabilized the Threshold. The realms will bleed into each other — chaos will reign."
Altharion's eyes narrowed. "Or freedom."
He moved, faster than the eye could track, blade cutting arcs of blue fire. The Warden met his strikes with hands of liquid shadow, each impact sending shockwaves through the suspended debris. Sparks of magic rained down, igniting frozen trees like torches in a windless night.
Meanwhile, Serenya's focus was locked on the Orb. Every crack widened, spilling more power into the breach. Her fingers burned from the contact, but she refused to let go. "Altharion! If I shatter it completely—"
"You'll tear yourself apart," he barked, forcing the Warden back with a thrust.
She smiled grimly. "Better me than the realms."
The Warden lunged toward her, but Altharion intercepted, locking them in a deadlock of force and will. "Serenya, do it!"
Her voice rose over the storm of clashing magic. "When this is over… don't you dare follow me."
The Orb screamed. Not with sound, but with a vibration so deep it rattled bones and memories alike. In a single decisive motion, Serenya smashed it against the ground.
The world convulsed.
The frozen warriors and debris were flung outward as time snapped back. The Veil split wide open, its edges fraying like torn silk. A tidal wave of light and shadow burst from the wound, swallowing the battlefield.
Altharion was hurled back, skidding across scorched earth. He caught a glimpse of Serenya, her body dissolving into streams of light, her eyes locked on his until the last fragment of her form was claimed by the breach.
The Warden's scream was neither human nor divine — a pure, shattering note that echoed in the ruins of the sky. Its form disintegrated into motes of silver dust, scattering into the void beyond the Veil.
Then, silence.
Altharion staggered to his feet. The battlefield was gone. In its place was a barren plain of glassy stone, stretching to a horizon that no longer seemed fixed. The sky above was split — half day, half night — the sun and moon frozen side by side.
He felt the pulse of his sword weaken, its light dimming. "Serenya…" His voice cracked. The bond they shared, faint but constant, was gone.
But in the stillness, a whisper brushed his mind. "It's not over… yet."
He looked toward the Veil's lingering wound, now reduced to a shimmering slit in the sky. Something stirred beyond it, something vast and watching. His knuckles whitened around his hilt.
"If the realms bleed," he muttered, "I'll be the one to decide where the blood falls."
And with that, Altharion stepped toward the fracture.