The world had forgotten its color.
Ash fell from the heavens like snow, coating the broken ground in ghostly silver. The air was heavy with ruin—magic gone wild, storms that bled crimson lightning, the remnants of creation tearing itself apart. Yet in the heart of that apocalypse, two figures stood locked together as if nothing else existed.
Lyria could taste the storm on her tongue. Power crackled in the air, sharp and metallic, tinged with something older than time itself. Kael's hand was warm in hers, but even his touch trembled now. The mark that bound them—golden, once radiant—flickered like a dying star.
"You're fading," she breathed.
Kael's lips twitched into a faint smile, though pain shadowed his eyes. "So are you."
