The air tasted like iron and sorrow. Every breath scraped against Lyria's throat, raw and heavy with the scent of smoke that didn't belong to this world. Around her stretched the in-between — a realm that was neither alive nor dead, lit by fractured shards of light that drifted like fireflies lost in eternity.
Kael was still on his knees, bound in chains that shimmered faintly with celestial energy. The marks along his wrists glowed like dying embers. He looked both divine and ruined — a fallen god imprisoned by his own sacrifice.
Lyria's heart clenched at the sight. She took a cautious step forward, the ground pulsing faintly beneath her feet as if warning her back. "Kael…" Her voice was hoarse, fragile. "It's me."
He didn't lift his gaze immediately. When he did, she saw it — the haunting blend of recognition and pain in his golden eyes. His lips curved into a weary half-smile. "You shouldn't have followed me here."
