The Hollow roared with battle. The Keepers fought desperately against the endless tide of hunters, their gray cloaks flashing with silver runes as they carved space around Kael and Isolde. But for every shadow slain, two more rose from the abyss.
At the heart of the storm, Kael and Isolde stood side by side. His Moonsilver Sword burned with silver fire, her hands blazed with golden flame. Together, they cut a swath through the darkness, light and steel merging in arcs of defiance.
Yet every strike felt smaller than the shadow they faced. The Shadow King walked through their fury as though through falling rain, his crown of black fire undimmed. His voice rolled like thunder across the cavern.
You fight prophecy without knowing it. Blade and flame are not meant to save—they are meant to end. One must strike the other. That is how my chains were forged. That is how they will bind me again.
Kael faltered, the words hitting like a blow. He glanced at Isolde. Her golden fire flared wild, her eyes trembling with the same realization.
"To bind him again…" she whispered, horror dawning. "One of us must—"
"No," Kael growled, his grip tightening on the sword. "I will not accept that. There has to be another way."
The King's laughter split the air. There is not. Either flame dies upon steel, or steel burns in flame. That is the only truth your bloodline ever carried.
---
The ground split, chains shattered, the abyss itself rising to consume them. Kael fought with desperate fury, each strike fueled not by prophecy but by love. He shoved Isolde back, shielding her from a lash of shadow that tore stone apart.
"Kael!" she cried, reaching for him.
"I won't let him have you!" he roared, his blade clashing against the King's hand, sparks showering like stars.
But the Moonsilver Sword trembled. Its runes flared, brighter than ever before, almost… hungering. Kael realized with horror that the blade itself recognized prophecy. It wanted to pierce flame.
Isolde staggered, fire spilling uncontrollably from her hands, the mark on her arm blazing brighter, veins of molten light spreading toward her heart. She looked at Kael with fear and certainty both.
"Kael… if it's the only way—"
"No!" His voice broke. "Don't you dare ask me to do that."
The Shadow King raised both arms, and the cavern quaked. It is already written. Only one of you will walk out of this Hollow.
---
Lady Elira's voice rang out from behind, fierce and unyielding even in despair. "Prince! Flame! Prophecy is not iron—it is clay! Bend it! Break it! Make it yours!"
Kael's eyes met Isolde's. For a heartbeat, the chaos faded.
Her voice was soft, breaking. "Then we fight not prophecy. We fight him."
Together they turned, flame and blade striking as one, hurling themselves at the Shadow King. Silver and gold merged into a single burst of light, tearing through his shadows, burning against his crown of fire.
For the first time, the King staggered.
And for the first time, his laughter faltered.