The fall was a symphony of vertigo and rushing air. Aria's scream was swallowed by the immense, dark throat of the ravine. The phantom fire of Malakor's psychic attack still seared her mind, a crippling agony that overloaded her senses. Her brief moment of god-like power had vanished, leaving her weak, helpless, and plummeting into an abyss.
This is it, she thought, a strange calm settling over the panic. This is how it ends.
But it didn't.
Something slammed into her, not with the hard finality of the ground, but with a firm, jarring impact that knocked the wind from her lungs. An arm, strong as steel, wrapped around her waist, arresting her fall. She found herself dangling in the darkness, held tight against a solid form.
"Got you," a familiar voice grunted. Kael.
She opened her eyes. They were suspended halfway down the ravine, pressed against its sheer rock face. Kael had one arm locked around her, and the other was gripping a gnarled, thick root that jutted from the stone. His face was pale, strained with effort. A dark, wet stain was spreading across his side from the crossbow bolt wound, and a fresh cut bled freely on his forehead.
"How…?" she stammered, her voice hoarse.
"They thought they had me cornered," he panted, his muscles trembling with the strain of holding them both. "I took a page from your book. Used the darkness as a distraction and went over the edge before they could react. Was climbing my way along when I saw you take your… flight." He gave a weak, grim smile. "Impressive entrance. Dramatic exit."
Above them, Lyra appeared at the lip of the ravine, peering down into the darkness. Her face was a mask of frustration and annoyance.
"You can't hide in the dark from me, Watchdog!" she called down, her voice echoing. "And the heir is mine!"
A black, feathered bolt hissed past them, striking the rock face just inches from Kael's head with a shower of sparks. The necrotic poison smoked and sizzled, eating at the stone.
"She's not going to just let us climb out," Kael stated the obvious. He looked down into the inky blackness below them. "So we go down."
"Down?" Aria stared into the void. "What's down there?"
"Hopefully, the bottom," he grunted. "Let go of the wall."
Trusting him was the only option she had. Aria pushed away from the rock face, clinging to him as he let go of the root. They fell again, but this time it was a controlled, sliding descent. Kael used his feet to brake against the near-vertical cliff, his boots scraping against stone, slowing them just enough to keep the fall from being fatal. It was a jarring, bone-rattling ride, punctuated by the whistle of more crossbow bolts from above.
They landed with a bone-jarring impact on a wide ledge twenty feet from the bottom. The floor of the ravine was finally visible, a mess of shattered rock and pale, sightless cave flora. But they weren't alone. One of the masked Hunters was waiting for them, having clearly descended the other side. The Hunter raised their crossbow, taking aim.
Kael didn't give them the chance. With a roar, he shoved Aria behind him and charged. He moved with a speed that defied his injuries, his sword a silver arc in the gloom. The Hunter fired, but Kael deflected the bolt with a sharp clang of his blade. He crashed into the Hunter before they could reload, and the two figures became a whirlwind of desperate, brutal combat.
Aria watched in horror, useless. The Hunter was fast, their movements fluid and deadly, but Kael fought with a fierce, focused desperation. He was wounded, bleeding, but he was fighting for more than just a contract. He was fighting for a promise made twenty years ago.
He saw an opening. Faking a high slash, he dropped low and swept the Hunter's legs out from under them. As they fell, Kael drove his sword down in a single, decisive thrust. There was a choked gasp, and the Hunter went still.
Kael stood over the body for a moment, breathing heavily, leaning on his sword. He looked at Aria, his face a mask of pain and exhaustion. "No time," he gasped, pulling his sword free. "More will be coming."
He stumbled, his hand going to the wound in his side. The fabric of his coat was black with blood, and the edges of the wound, visible through the tear, were tinged with a sickly, dark purple. The poison.
"Kael!" she cried, rushing to his side, helping him stay upright.
"It's… working faster than I thought," he admitted, his voice strained. "Necrotic blight. It doesn't just kill you; it unravels your life force. Eats the light."
A terrible, cold dread washed over Aria. He was dying. For her.
She looked at the wound, and as her Umbral Sight focused on it, she saw not just torn flesh and blood, but a creeping, cancerous darkness spreading from it, a network of black veins pulsing with malevolent energy. It was a living poison. And as she looked at it, she felt a strange, horrifying flicker of recognition. This dark, devouring energy… it felt like a twisted, corrupted version of the shadow power she herself wielded. It was a perversion of her own nature.
"We have to get you help," she said, her voice shaking. She half-dragged, half-supported him as they staggered along the floor of the ravine. "The Gloomwood Exchange. How far?"
"Too far to walk," Kael whispered, his breathing growing shallow. "But there's… a river. Runs from the deep Umbral, through the Gloomwood… passes right by the Exchange. Faster than walking… if we can reach it."
He pointed a trembling hand further down the chasm. They stumbled on, Kael leaning more and more heavily on her. Every step was an agony for him. His strength was fading fast. The silver in his hair seemed more prominent, his skin taking on a grayish, corpselike pallor.
They found the river. It wasn't water. It was a sluggish, flowing current of shimmering, liquid shadow, giving off a faint, cold light. It moved without a sound, a silent artery of the Umbral Realm.
"This is it," Kael breathed, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "The Umbraflow. Get us in. It will carry us."
Aria helped him to the river's edge. He was barely conscious now, his weight a deadening burden. With a final, desperate heave, she managed to get them both into the current. The liquid shadow was shockingly cold, but it was buoyant. It held them, pulling them along in its slow, inexorable flow.
They floated in silence, the high walls of the ravine blocking out the twilight sky. Kael was mumbling now, his words slurred and nonsensical. Aria held him tight, trying to share her own body heat, a futile gesture against the encroaching magical cold that was consuming him.
"Alistair…" he murmured, his eyes fluttering. "I'm sorry… I wasn't… strong enough…"
"Don't talk like that, Kael," she pleaded, tears streaming down her face and freezing in the cold air. "You're going to be fine. We're going to get help."
She looked at his wound again. The black veins of the poison were spreading, reaching for his heart. She felt an overwhelming, desperate urge to do something, anything. She remembered the shadow sphere, the feeling of persuasion, of partnership. This poison was a shadow, just a twisted, hungry one. Could she do the same? Could she persuade it to leave?
She placed her hand over his wound, over the corrupted flesh. She closed her eyes and reached out, not with force, but with that same gentle, inquisitive will. She focused on the poison, on its dark, devouring energy.
The moment she touched it with her mind, it reacted. It was not like the calm, quiescent shadows of the forest. This was a rabid, starving thing. It lashed out, its energy surging up her arm, a feeling of utter cold and decay. It tried to feed on her, just as it was feeding on Kael.
But in that contact, she felt something else. A connection. The poison was shadow-magic, a dark mirror of her own. She couldn't command it, but she could *feel* it, and in a way, she could understand it. Its only purpose was to consume.
She couldn't banish it, not with her limited control. But maybe she didn't have to.
An idea, desperate and insane, formed in her mind. If she couldn't get it out of him, maybe she could pull it into herself. Her bloodline, the Aegis, her innate power—it was stronger than his. Maybe she could contain it. Maybe she could survive what was killing him.
It was a terrifying gamble. It could kill them both. But doing nothing was a certain death sentence for him.
"I'm sorry, Kael," she whispered.
She tightened her focus, changing her intent. She no longer tried to push the poison away. Instead, she opened a door inside herself, a psychic void, and invited it in. She visualized her own energy, the latent shadow power within her, as a vortex, pulling the corruption from him.
She felt it happen. The black, necrotic tendrils loosened their grip on Kael's life force and flowed toward her, drawn by the irresistible call of a more powerful, more compatible host. The energy surged into her arm, a torrent of icy agony. It was a thousand times worse than Malakor's psychic attack. It was a tide of death, and she had invited it into her own soul.
Kael gasped, his body arching in her arms. The grayish pallor of his skin began to recede, replaced by the faint flush of returning life. But as he grew stronger, she grew weaker. The cold was overwhelming, seeping into her bones, her heart. Her vision started to fade, the edges turning black.
She had miscalculated. It was too much. The poison was too strong. It was devouring her from the inside out, faster than it had him.
The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her completely was a flicker of light ahead, down the silent river. A collection of lanterns and torches, hanging over the water. The Gloomwood Exchange. They had made it.
Kael, his strength returning, looked from the approaching lights to the girl who had saved him. Her eyes were closed, her face ashen. The hand she held to his side was now cold as death, and the black, necrotic veins he had seen spreading across his own skin were now crawling up her arm, a spiderweb of darkness racing toward her heart.
He had been saved, but he had only traded his life for hers. He held her limp body tighter as the river of shadow carried them toward the lights of the last, desperate hope.