The presence that filled the room was suffocating. Nyx was not merely a being; he was a wound in the very fabric of reality, healed with darkness. Behind him, a sea of shadowborns poured into the chamber, their faceless forms gliding along the walls, releasing a rasp that chilled the blood. Their hollow eyes were fixed on the trio and the two captive Guardians.
"Nyx," Serin whispered, her voice carrying a pain that spanned millennia.
Kaelion snarled, straining against his chains. "Look at what they've made of you, my friend."
But in the eyes of the First Shadowborn, there was no recognition—only empty obedience and endless desolation.
There was no time for a plan. The storm had struck.
"For the Sanctuary!" Kael shouted, drawing his sword. Flames wrapped around the blade, and he hurled himself into the wave of lesser shadowborns, slashing through their shadowed shapes. But every strike that split a form apart felt like striking water—their bodies reformed instantly. "Alabaster! How do we fight them?"
Alabaster, pale with strain, raised his hands. "Their essence is unstable! They must be unraveled enough! I'm searching for their core!" His gift flared, and dark threads wove from his palms, piercing the shadowborns and briefly slowing their reformation. "Now, Kael!"
Using the opening, Kael fed his flames, turning them into a white fire that burned the very darkness. The shadowborns shrieked as they dissolved into vapor.
But the true threat ignored them. Nyx advanced toward Akero, his darkness dimming the very light in the room.
"Akero, beware!" Nea cried, summoning her healing light.
Akero raised his hands, feeling time slow around Nyx. But it was like trying to hold back a river with bare palms. Nyx's darkness was woven into existence itself, resistant to such shifts. Time cracked around him, and still he pressed forward, unstoppable.
Nyx's hand, forged of pure shadow, lashed out faster than Akero could react. The blow struck his chest, and Akero felt coldness pierce through him—not physical, but spiritual. His source dimmed, his bond with time unraveling. The pain was unbearable, familiar.
*Again…* he thought, collapsing to his knees. *Just like with Carlos… again I die…*
His vision blurred. He saw Nea rushing toward him, her face twisted in terror. He saw Kael and Alabaster desperately trying to reach him, but they were overwhelmed by countless shadowborns.
Then Alabaster made a desperate choice. He abandoned aiding Kael and hurled himself at Nyx. "Tharos! You know me!" he cried, his dark threads coiling around Nyx's arms, restraining him for a heartbeat. "Wake up!"
Nyx halted, his vacant face turning briefly toward Alabaster. For a moment, a spark flickered in his eyes—perhaps memory. But it vanished swiftly, replaced by fury. "Seeker," Nyx growled, tearing Alabaster's threads apart with ease. "Traitor."
Another strike hurled Alabaster across the room.
"Alabaster!" Kael roared, breaking through the last of the shadowborns, blood soaking his shoulder. He planted himself between Akero and Nyx, raising his sword. "You will not pass!"
Nyx only smiled, an empty mockery. He raised his hand to finish it.
At that moment, Nea reached Akero. Her light shone, warm and alive, as she pressed her hands to his chest. "Don't give up," she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Not again."
Akero felt warmth spread through him, mending what the darkness had torn apart. His source reignited, stronger than before. The memory of Carlos's battle, of helplessness, became his strength. He was not fighting time; he *was* time. And time could heal all wounds.
His eyes opened, glowing with new resolve. He rose as Nea's light continued to flow into him.
"Nyx!" Akero shouted.
The First Shadowborn turned, startled that his victim had risen.
Akero lifted his hand—but this time he did not seek to halt time. Instead, he accelerated it. He focused on Nyx's very essence, on the darkness holding him together. "Your suffering has lasted long enough."
Time whirled violently around Nyx. Centuries of decay, meant to unfold over ages, unraveled in seconds. Nyx screamed—not in rage, but in pain and release. His shadowed form began to collapse, the darkness washed away by light.
Kael seized the moment. With one last effort, he hurled his sword, driving it into the core of the disintegrating being. Alabaster, rising, guided his threads—not to bind, but to lead, aiding the release.
Nyx, now more shadow than form, locked eyes with Akero. And in that final instant, before dissolving completely, Akero saw it—a flicker of gratitude, of peace.
"You don't have to suffer anymore," Akero whispered.
And then he was gone. The First Shadowborn was free.
With his passing, the remaining shadowborns screamed and vanished, their tether to the world severed. Silence fell.
Then came the sound of breaking. The chains binding Kaelion and Serin, forged of the Unknown's will, cracked and crumbled into dust.
Kaelion and Serin rose, battered but unbroken. Their eyes swept the chamber, over the weary, bloodied, but living faces of their saviors.
Serin approached Alabaster, who knelt, exhausted. "Alabaster," she said, and in her voice was no longer hatred, only sorrow and acceptance. "You freed him."
"I owed him," Alabaster replied, lifting his gaze. "And I did not do it alone."
Kaelion stepped to Akero, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, boy. You and your friends showed more courage than we ever did."
Nea smiled through her tears, and Kael, clutching his wounded shoulder, nodded with respect.
Akero looked at his companions—Kael, brave and relentless; Nea, gentle and strong; and now Alabaster, healed of his past. He felt the bond between them solidify.
"We are no longer just a trio," Akero said, glancing at Serin and Kaelion. "Now… we are a fellowship."
Serin smiled, for the first time. "We will remain to guard the Sanctuary. But now we have allies. And you have us."
Kaelion looked toward the doorway, toward the world waiting for them. "The Unknown has lost his strongest servant. He will be furious. The war is only beginning."
But as they stood together in the freed chamber, surrounded by the remnants of defeated darkness, they felt something they had not in a long time—hope.
Alabaster rose and joined the group. No words were spoken. None were needed. Trust was not forged in promises, but in shared struggle, in battle survived together. They had accepted him.
The fellowship was whole.