The sky was fire.
The Iron Crown hovered above the square, a monstrous shadow vomiting smoke and flame. The Guildmaster stood at its prow, staff raised, tethered to the pulsing aetherlines of Aerodyne. The city screamed in unison—gears grinding, steam hissing, cannons spitting flame.
Elara charged forward.
Her movements blurred, faster than flesh could ever carry. Brass and steel gleamed with every strike as she carved a path through soldiers, machines, and fire alike. She was magnificent, terrible—more legend than woman.
But Adrian saw what the world could not: every blow made her stumble a little more. Sparks bled from her joints, smoke curled from her chest. Her heart—the one he had built—was tearing itself apart.
"Elara!" he shouted over the chaos. "You can't—your systems won't hold!"
She glanced back, her face still hers, still Elara's—but her eyes flickered with static. "Then let it end."
---
The Guildmaster descended from the airship on a column of blue light, staff crackling with unholy energy. His masked face regarded her as one might an insect.
"You were an experiment. A mistake," he intoned. "Return to the silence you defied."
Elara met him with fire in her voice. "I am no mistake."
Their battle shook the square. Aetherlight clashed with steel, shockwaves cracking stone. The Guildmaster's staff lashed arcs of lightning, tearing walls apart; Elara's fists met them head-on, driving him back step by step.
But Adrian saw the truth: with each strike, the artificial heart in her chest ticked faster, frantically, desperately—like a clock wound too tight.
It could not last.
---
At last, the Guildmaster raised his staff for the final blow. The crystal at its tip blazed, drawing the very life from the city.
"Elara!" Adrian screamed.
She did not hesitate.
With the last of her strength, she tore the staff from the Guildmaster's grasp and drove it deep into her own chest.
The explosion of light was blinding. Aether screamed. The Iron Crown shuddered in the sky. The city's cannons fell silent, its gears seizing.
And when the smoke cleared, the Guildmaster was gone.
Elara knelt in the ruins, her chest aglow with a dying light. Adrian stumbled to her, falling to his knees.
"No, no, no—stay with me. Please."
Her hand—half-flesh, half-steel—rose to his cheek. Her voice was soft, halting, breaking apart.
"I… was never meant to last, Adrian. But for a moment… I was alive."
Tears blurred his vision. He gripped her hand, pressed it to his face. "You are alive. You're mine."
Her lips curved into the faintest smile.
The light in her chest flickered… and went dark.
Adrian held her as the city's bells tolled one final time. Not a command this time, but a requiem.
The siege was over. The city saved.
But his heart—his true heart—was gone.