Two days.

  Only two days had passed since Adrian left, leaving me behind in the Obsidian Palace. Forty-eight hours that had stretched into an eternity.

  The manor felt dead without him. The shadows that had once fawned over him were now frozen in the corners, wary and predatory. They felt the Master's absence, and they didn't like it.

  Neither did I.

  I sat in the library, staring at an empty water carafe. My hands were trembling. Weakness washed over me in icy, nauseating waves, making my head spin with every sudden movement.

  The child was hungry.

  He demanded energy. My energy. And with every passing hour, his appetite grew.

  “Miss Belskaya?”

  I flinched and turned. Marta stood in the doorway with a tray. The housekeeper's face was grey, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked like she had aged ten years.

  “Viktor Sergeyevich has arrived,” she said quietly. “He is waiting in your room.”

  I nodded, leaning against the table to stand. My legs felt like lead.

  “Shall I help you?”

  “I can manage,” I forced myself to straighten. “I'm fine.”

  Marta didn't believe me, but she didn't argue.

  We climbed the stairs in silence. The corridors were quiet—a dead, oppressive stillness. The servants glided along the walls like ghosts, careful not to make a sound. They felt the tension saturating the air. Without its Master, the palace held its breath. It waited.

  I felt the eyes of the Chernov ancestors watching me from their portraits. Judging. Cold. *“What are you doing here, impostor?”* they seemed to whisper.

  “You need to eat, Miss Belskaya,” Marta said softly.

  “I can't,” nausea surged in my throat at the mere thought of food.

  “You must. For the baby.”

  She was right. I had forced myself to eat a spoonful of porridge this morning. It had sat like a lump in my throat. My body was rejecting ordinary food. It needed magic. Pure energy. And there was none.

  I approached the mirror in my room. My reflection was terrifying. Sunken eyes, grey lips. My skin had become as thin as parchment, with blue veins showing through. I felt sick at my own weakness. My legs gave out, and I had to grab the mirror's frame to keep from falling.

  Two days ago, Adrian had kissed me. His magic had filled me with life. And now... now I was empty. Like a shattered pitcher.

  Viktor Sergeyevich was waiting for me by the window. The Chernov Clan’s chief healer was nervously wiping his glasses with the edge of his robe. On the table stood an empty vial—the green elixir that had sustained me over the last few days.

  “Well?” I asked, sinking into a chair. I didn't have the strength to stand. “Where is the new dose?”

  The healer put on his glasses and looked at me. In his eyes, I saw fear.

  “There is no more elixir, Anya.”

  The world tilted.

  “What do you mean, 'no more'?” I gripped the armrests. “You said the supplies would last for a month.”

  “They would have,” Viktor Sergeyevich sighed, wiping his glasses again. “If not for the sabotage.”

  “Sabotage?” I repeated. “But Adrian destroyed their base. He won.”

  “He won,” the healer nodded. “But the Ognevs are using scorched-earth tactics. As they retreated, the mercenaries blew up the port's medical warehouses. The entire supply of Moon Root intended for us has been destroyed. And new shipments are blocked by the quarantine. Yellow Code, Anya. We are in isolation.”

  “And so?” my voice trembled. “Doesn't the Chernov Clan have its own supplies?”

  “We do. Weapons, food, crystals. Our strategic reserve in the bunker was lost tonight. Static field failure. Sabotage. One of the servants cut the power cables. Moon Root is a living extract; it decays within hours without constant cooling and mana. We found the saboteur dead, but the medicine has already turned into useless slime.”

  “So we're empty?”

  “Completely. It's a rarity. It only grows in the greenhouses of the Celestial Citadel, or it's smuggled in from the Wastelands.”

  He fell silent, staring out the window.

  “My supplier disappeared yesterday,” he added quietly. “Demyan's people must have gotten to him too.”

  Officially, we had won the battle. Logistically, we had lost the war. Adrian is trying to establish new channels now, but that will take weeks. We don't have weeks.

  I placed a hand on my stomach. Inside, my child slept. Or waited. I felt his presence—heavy, demanding. He didn't understand what a blockade was. He just wanted to live. And he was taking that life from me.

  “How much time do I have?” I asked.

  Viktor Sergeyevich looked away.

  “Without the elixir?” Viktor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We’re talking hours. By dawn at the latest, the exhaustion will become irreversible. The child... he will begin to drain your life force directly from your organs. Heart. Liver. You will simply burn out, Anya. Today.”

  Time remaining: less than twenty-four hours.

  I closed my eyes.

  Adrian was at war. He was smashing mercenary bases, burning enemies to protect us. But the enemy had proven cunning. They didn't storm the walls. They simply shut off the tap.

  “There is another solution,” the healer’s voice sounded uncertain.

  I opened my eyes.

  “What?”

  “The Shadow Market.”

  Marta, standing by the door, gasped.

  “Have you lost your mind, Viktor?” she stepped forward. “The Shadow Market? It's suicide! People are killed there for a sideways glance! And now, with the clan war going on, it’s terrifying to think what you might run into.”

  “We have no choice!” the healer snapped. “The Moon Root is there. I know it. Azra is the only one trading it during the blockade. But he won't sell it to me.”

  “Why?” Corvus frowned as he entered.

  “Because Azra is a collector of Light,” Viktor looked at the spy over his glasses. “He only sells rare ingredients to those who possess a Spark. A real one, untainted. For dark mages, he has different prices. And different goods.”

  Corvus fell silent. He knew what that meant. Neither he, nor Viktor, nor anyone from the Chernov Guard possessed Light. Only Darkness or neutral mana.

  “I will go,” I said.

  “No!” Marta stood between me and the door. “The Prince ordered you not to leave the estate!”

  “Marta, we don't have time for arguments,” I looked at her. “If I don't get the root today, tomorrow will be too late.”

  “I can send a stand-in,” Corvus began. “I answer with my head to the Prince for you, and with my honor.”

  “Do you have a light mage in mind?” I asked. “Right now? One who can be trusted with my life?”

  Corvus ground his teeth so hard I heard the enamel creak. His face turned to stone. He knew I was right. There were no light mages in the Chernov Clan. I was the only one.

  “This is madness,” he hissed. “Dragging a pregnant woman... No. We wait for the Prince. I will not take that responsibility.”

  “I don't have time to wait,” I walked to the table where the empty carafe stood. My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to pick it up. “I haven't had the potion for two days. My body is at its limit. Do you know what happens if I don't get a magical recharge today?”

  Corvus tensed. His hand jerked, but he froze.

  “No.”

  “Hyponatremia,” I held up the empty carafe, looking him in the eyes. “A sharp drop in salts. Brain edema. Seizures. My body is exhausted, Corvus. My kidneys will fail first. Then—my heart. You’ll be left with a child’s corpse. Choose. Either we go to the market and we have a chance, or Adrian gets two corpses. By tomorrow.”

  “You won't do it. You want to live.”

  “I want to save my baby. And here, he is doomed.”

  “Damn it! Get the car! But if so much as a hair falls from your head...”

  He cursed—long and vile. He slammed his fist onto the table, making the inkwell jump.

  “Fine. But the conditions are strict. An armored mobile. Full cloak. You don't leave my side for a single step. And you stay silent. Only I speak.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Get ready,” he straightened up, adjusting his holster. “We leave in ten minutes. Before I realize what I'm doing.”

  ***

  I didn't waste time packing. I kicked off my silk slippers and pulled on a pair of heavy lace-up boots—the only sturdy footwear I could find in the guest wing's wardrobe. They were a bit too large and smelled of leather and gun oil, but they braced my ankles firmly. Heels had no place in Sector Five. Over my simple dress, I threw a cloak with a deep hood. Now, I was ready.

  The mobile was an old, battle-scarred truck converted into an armored vehicle. No crests. No flags. Just grey steel and tinted windows.

  We exited through the back gates.

  The city had changed.

  The Yellow Code had turned the streets into a labyrinth of fear. Guard posts at every intersection. Ognev patrols checking IDs of every passerby. Shops closed. Windows boarded up with planks.

  People hurried along with their heads down. No one smiled. The air was thick with tension, as heavy as smog. A riot was brewing. A hunger riot.

  We bypassed the checkpoints thanks to Corvus's forged passes. He sat next to the driver, an assault rifle across his lap. Viktor Sergeyevich and I were in the back. Beside me sat two hulks from the personal guard—Tita and Rezchik. Silent as prehistoric monoliths.

  “The market is in Sector Five,” Corvus said without looking back. “The old industrial zone. The magic there is so loud the scanners go crazy. Perfect place for hiding.”

  I looked out the window. Sector Five was a slum. Rusted pipes, factory ruins, eternal fog. This was where those who found no place in the Celestial Citadel or the Mid-City lived. Outcasts. Half-breeds. Rogue mages.

  The mobile ducked into a tunnel under a derelict overpass. The walls here were covered in glowing moss and graffiti—gang signs, protection runes, curses directed at the Council of Seven.

  “We’re here,” the driver killed the engine. We stopped in a dead end piled with rusted containers.

  “Veil,” Corvus reminded me.

  I pulled up the hood of my cloak. I activated the artifact Viktor had given me. The world dimmed slightly, and sounds grew muffled. The cloaking hid my face and dampened my aura, turning me into a grey shadow. Faceless. Unnoticeable.

  We stepped out.

  The gates to the Shadow Market were guarded by two ogres. Massive creatures, nearly ten feet tall with skin like grey stone. They lazily toyed with iron-bound clubs.

  Corvus showed them some kind of badge. An ogre grunted and pulled a lever. The heavy gate swung open with a screech.

  The Shadow Market lived up to its name.

  It was located in a massive hall of an old mana-ore processing plant. The vaulted ceilings were lost in the darkness, choked with pipes and chains. There was almost no light—only rare magical lanterns burning with toxic green, violet, and blood-red fire.

  The smell hit me first. A heavy cocktail that made my head spin. Spices from the Southern Wastelands—sharp and pungent. Rotting meat. A metallic tang. And the sweet, nauseating aroma of “Siren's Tears”—a forbidden narcotic that induced euphoria before a slow, agonizing death.

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  It was crowded.

  Creatures of all sorts. Humans wrapped in cloaks. Half-breeds with animalistic features. Mutants with extra limbs or scales.

  We moved through the crowd. Corvus held my elbow, his fingers digging into my arm. Tita and Rezchik walked ahead, clearing the way with their shoulders. They weren't gentle. If someone didn't move fast enough, they received a blow from a rifle butt or an elbow.

  I scanned the surroundings, unable to tear my eyes away from the stalls.

  To the right, they were trading weapons. Not ordinary ones. Black blades forged from meteoric iron pulsed with a faint violet haze. Rifles fired cursed bullets.

  “Fresh dreams! Who wants dreams?” shouted a dwarf with an ugly hump. Before him stretched rows of glass jars. Inside, multicolored smoke swirled. “A virgin's dream! An assassin's dream! A minister's secrets! Cheap!”

  I saw a jar with black smoke. *“A Madman's Nightmare,”* the label read. Someone was actually buying that.

  Further along was a row of slave traders.

  The cages were set right on the floor. Inside sat creatures. A cat-woman with mournful eyes. A boy with transparent skin through which glowing bones were visible. An elf with severed ears.

  “Keep moving, don't linger,” Corvus whispered, tugging my arm.

  I felt sick. Not from morning sickness, but from the very atmosphere of this place. They sold everything here. Life, death, souls.

  One buyer—a tall man in a jester's mask—grabbed the cat-woman by the hair, forcing her mouth open. He inspected her teeth like those of a horse. She hissed, but an electric shock from her collar made her whimper.

  I turned away.

  “Mercy isn't a currency here, mistress,” Tita grunted, noticing my look. “This is the bottom.”

  “This is hell,” I whispered.

  We passed an alchemist's tent where something brownish and bubbling was brewing in a massive cauldron. Nearby, dried harpy talons, basilisk tongues, and... human fingers? hung on hooks.

  I swallowed hard.

  “Just a bit more,” Viktor said. “Azra's shop is in the Artifact Sector.”

  Suddenly, a beggar blocked our way. Or a madman.

  He was dressed in rags, his face covered in sores. Empty sockets stared directly at me. It felt like he could see right through the veil.

  “Light...” he rasped, extending a skeletal hand. “I see the light... Give it to me...”

  He tried to grab the edge of my cloak.

  Tita's movement was a blur.

  A boot to the chest. The sound of breaking bones. The beggar flew back several yards, crashing into someone's stall and overturning baskets of mushrooms.

  “Keep your hands off, carrion,” Tita growled.

  The crowd didn't even turn around. Here, this was normal.

  We picked up the pace.

  “In here,” Viktor pointed to an inconspicuous tent in the corner, draped with heavy rugs.

  We ducked inside.

  It smelled of herbs. Dried wormwood, mint, dragon's blood.

  Behind the counter sat an old man. Or an old woman? It was impossible to tell. The face was hidden under a raven mask. The fingers were long, dry, and laden with rings.

  “Viktor,” a voice croaked. “I haven't seen you in a long time. I thought the Shadows had devoured you.”

  “I'm hard to kill, Azra,” the healer approached the counter. “I need the Root.”

  “Moon Root?” the mask tilted. “It's expensive these days. The blockade.”

  “How much?”

  “Five thousand.”

  Viktor choked.

  “Five... that's robbery! A month ago, it cost five hundred!”

  “A month ago, you could buy it at the pharmacy,” Azra smirked. “But today—only from me. And only because you brought *her*.”

  He pointed a ringed finger at me.

  “I feel the Light,” he whispered. “Delicious. Pure. A rarity these days.”

  I shivered under my cloak. It felt like he was looking right through me.

  “Take it or leave,” the trader finished.

  The healer looked at me. I nodded. We had the money. Adrian had given me access to his safe.

  Corvus tossed a pouch onto the counter. Heavy. Clinking.

  “Ten,” he said. “For everything you have. And for your silence.”

  Azra weighed the pouch in his hand. He grunted.

  “Generous.”

  He reached under the counter and pulled out a bundle. Coarse fabric tied with twine.

  “Fresh,” he said. “Morning harvest. Enough for a month. Now—go. The air is... heavy today.”

  He said the last sentence in a strange tone. Warning.

  Corvus tensed.

  “Moving out,” he commanded.

  Viktor grabbed the bundle. We exited the tent.

  I nearly ran. The heavy soles of my boots bit confidently into the dirty concrete, preventing me from slipping on puddles of magical oil. Corvus nodded, noticing my readiness.

  We had almost reached the exit. The hall gates were fifty yards away. I could already see the saving headlights of our mobile.

  And then the light went out.

  Sharply. Instantly. Darkness fell, swallowing the light whole.

  Silence. For a split second, all sound vanished. The market held its breath. Even the ogres at the gate froze.

  And then a roar tore the air. Not an animal's. A magical one.

  Fire erupted.

  Not an ordinary flame. A living, roaring stream of liquid gold and blood. It poured from the ceiling, from the upper girders, turning into fiery serpents in mid-air.

  A fireball hit the crowd to our left. Screams. An explosion. The smell of burning flesh.

  “Get down!” Corvus roared, knocking me off my feet.

  We hit the dirty floor. Something hot hissed overhead. I saw the bundle of Moon Root—the very medicine we had risked everything for—fly from Viktor's hands as he tripped. It landed squarely in a puddle of flaming magical oil. The fabric ignited instantly. The last chance to save my child turned into a handful of black ash in seconds.

  “No!” Viktor cried out, trying to reach for the fire, but Corvus pinned him to the ground.

  “Forget it!” Tita barked, firing into the darkness. His rifle thundered, spitting tracers.

  “To the exit! Crawl!” Corvus dragged me by my arm.

  I crawled. My knees scraped against the concrete. My heart was hammering in my throat.

  This wasn't an accident. This wasn't a gang war.

  This was for us.

  “Viktor!” I screamed.

  “I'm here!” the healer's voice trembled but was close.

  A flash.

  A wall of fire rose before us, cutting off the path to the exit. The heat was unbearable. It melted the concrete, made the air shimmer.

  Figures emerged from the flames.

  Men in red robes. Faces hidden behind skull masks.

  The Salamanders. Elite Ognev mercenaries. Mage-killers.

  There were ten of them.

  We had three guards and me.

  “Shield!” Rezchik roared.

  He thrust his hands forward. A shadow dome covered us, taking the impact of a fireball. The darkness hissed, evaporating under the pressure of the flame.

  “There are too many of them!” he shouted. “I can't hold them for long!”

  Corvus was firing. Single shots, aimed. One of the Salamanders fell, but the others didn't even slow down. They walked through the fire as if through water.

  “Give us the girl,” the lead mercenary's voice boomed over the din of battle. Amplified by magic. “And you’ll die quickly.”

  “Go to hell!” Corvus threw a grenade.

  An explosion. Shrapnel. Smoke.

  “Run!” he shoved me toward a side passage. “Tita, cover her!”

  We ran.

  A labyrinth of crates. Containers. Pipes.

  The battle raged behind us. Screams. Explosions. I heard Rezchik scream. Then the scream cut off.

  Tita ran ahead, clearing the path. I followed him. Viktor, clutching the precious root to his chest, brought up the rear.

  We burst into a side corridor. Dark. Narrow.

  “In there!” Tita pointed to a service door.

  A shot.

  Tita jerked. A bullet hit him in the chest, punching through his armor. Blood sprayed, black in the gloom. He took another step by inertia and collapsed face-forward.

  I froze.

  A man stepped out of the shadows.

  Not in red. In a black suit. Perfectly tailored.

  Demyan.

  He held a pistol. Smoke curled from the barrel.

  “Hello, darling,” he smiled. “It's been a long time.”

  I backed away. My spine hit the cold wall.

  Viktor froze beside me.

  “Demyan...” I whispered.

  “Did you really think I'd let you go?” he stepped closer. “With my heir? To that bastard Chernov?”

  “He's protecting me!” I shouted. “And you wanted to kill me!”

  “I wanted what was best!” his face distorted. “A blank shouldn't give birth. You deceived everyone. You hid your gift.”

  He raised his palm, and I felt the air around my neck beginning to vanish rapidly. A vacuum noose. It became impossible to breathe; my lungs burned with the emptiness.

  “Come with me. Right now. Or I’ll rip the air from your healer's lungs.”

  “Don't!” I shielded Viktor with my body.

  “Anya, move away,” the healer whispered.

  “No!”

  Demyan laughed.

  “Such self-sacrifice. You were always so... righteous. It was irritating.”

  “I'm not going anywhere with you,” I said firmly.

  “You will. Or I will take the child by force. I have specialists here for C-sections.”

  A chill ran down my spine. He was serious. He was insane.

  “You're a monster. The baby won't survive even if you take him out of me; the fetus is still too young.”

  “I am a Voronov. We take what is ours. Live or dead!”

  He sharply clenched his fist, tightening the noose on my throat. My face began to turn blue.

  At that moment, the wall to our left exploded.

  Not from a bomb. From pure power.

  The concrete crumbled into dust. Rebar snapped like thread.

  A figure emerged from the cloud of dust.

  A black cloak, soaked in soot and someone else's blood. A sword in his hand—not of steel, but woven from the very Darkness itself.

  Adrian.

  He looked terrifying. His face was pale, his eyes two pits into the Abyss. Shadows swirled around him—not soft, but sharp as blades.

  He had found me.

  Demyan turned. A flick of his hand—and an invisible disk of compressed air, powerful enough to slice through a steel safe, flew toward Adrian.

  The air blade hit Adrian's shadow barrier and shattered into useless drafts.

  “You,” Adrian’s voice wasn't human. It was the grinding of metal on metal. The roar of a beast.

  He stepped forward.

  Demyan backed away. Fear. I saw real terror in his eyes.

  “Chernov! Stop! This is neutral territory! You're violating...”

  “I *am* the law,” Adrian flicked his hand.

  A shadow darted from him like a whip. It coiled around Demyan's leg. A jerk.

  Demyan fell. He slid across the concrete, clawing the floor with his fingernails. The magical flow in his hands choked out, dispersing into a grey mist.

  Adrian approached him. He stepped on Demyan's chest with his boot.

  The crunch of ribs. Demyan rasped.

  “You dared to touch her,” Adrian leaned down. The sword of Darkness touched Demyan's throat. “I warned you.”

  “She... my wife...” Demyan wheezed.

  “She is mine,” Adrian snapped.

  He raised the sword.

  “No!” Elisa's scream.

  I turned around.

  She stood in the breach in the wall. In a red combat suit. Fire danced around her hands.

  “Let him go, Chernov! Or she burns!”

  She threw a fireball. Not at Adrian. At me.

  I didn't have time to dodge. I didn't have time to put up a shield. I froze, watching death approach.

  The amulet on my chest flared.

  The black stone glowed with a crimson light. A shield unfurled around me—a thin, silver sphere. The fireball hit it.

  An explosion. Sparks. The amulet cracked with a loud snap, like breaking glass.

  But it held. The shield dampened the blow.

  “What?!” Elisa froze, looking at me with fury.

  I exhaled. My hand instinctively reached for the amulet. It was hot. Cracks spread across the stone like a spiderweb.

  Adrian had given me this amulet. *“It will reflect a magical attack. Once.”*

  Once. And that once had just ended.

  Elisa realized this before I did. Her lips stretched into a predatory smile.

  “So, you had a shield,” she hissed. “But now it's gone.”

  Her hands flared again. The fire was brighter. Hotter. Deadlier.

  The second fireball. Larger than the first. I saw the air melting around it.

  This time, the amulet wouldn't work.

  The impact.

  Pain.

  The fire hit my side. I was thrown against the wall. Head—against concrete.

  The world flared and died.

  “ANYA!!!”

  Adrian's scream. Full of pain and rage. The same scream I had heard in my nightmares.

  I slid down the wall. My hand touched my side.

  Wet. Hot. Blood.

  I looked at Adrian.

  He had forgotten about Demyan. He was looking at me. And in that moment, he was vulnerable.

  Demyan seized the chance. He struck from below with a powerful gust of wind, knocking Adrian back a step.

  Elisa created a wall of roaring flame between us and them. With one hand, she gripped Demyan's shoulder; with the other, she snatched a dull parchment scroll from her belt. The rarest displacement artifact flared with a crimson light, swallowing them both a fraction of a second before Adrian's shadows could close around their throats.

  They had escaped.

  Adrian didn't pursue them.

  He was beside me. Instantly.

  He fell to his knees directly in the filth. He grabbed me, pulling me close.

  “Anya... Anya, look at me!”

  I looked. But his face was blurring. Darkening.

  “It hurts...” I whispered.

  “Viktor!” Adrian roared. “Here! Now!”

  The healer was beside us. His hands glowed green. He pressed his palms to my wound.

  “A burn... to the bone... severe shock...” he muttered, pressing his hands to the wound. Blood gushed through his fingers, too fast, too hot.

  “The baby...” I grabbed Adrian by his collar. My fingers were slipping. “Save him...”

  Adrian looked at me. Tears glistened in his eyes. Black tears of Darkness.

  “I will save you,” the voice came as if from underwater. Muffled. Distant.

  “The baby...”

  “You!”

  He held me tighter. I felt his magic pouring into me. Cold, powerful. It tried to freeze the pain, to stop the blood.

  But Elisa's fire was poisonous. It was eating me from the inside. The pain was so intense my vision darkened. The world narrowed to Adrian's violet eyes.

  “Don't leave,” he whispered. “Don't you dare leave.”

  I tried to breathe, but my lungs were burning. Darkness washed over me in waves, heavy, soft. It promised peace. It promised the pain would end.

  “Anya!”

  His scream was like a physical blow. But it came through cotton.

  The pain was changing. It had stopped being just fire. It became a weight. Lead-heavy, unbearable, pressing me into the dirty concrete floor. I felt every breath as a battle. My lungs felt filled with crushed glass. But it was more terrifying to look at Adrian.

  Darkness dripped from his fingers, corroding the floor. His face, which had been glowing with triumph a minute ago, turned grey. The magic I had nourished him with wasn't infinite. It was fuel. And now the engine was burning itself out.

  “Adrian...” I rasped.

  He staggered. Blood gushed from his nose, black and thick. The charge of “divine power” had ended, leaving behind a scorched desert. The backlash hit with tenfold force.

  The smell. The smell of burning flesh. Sweetish, nauseating. I realized only a second later that it was the smell of my own body. And at that realization, my stomach twisted in a cramp, but I didn't even have the strength to vomit.

  Adrian's magic thrashed inside me like a bird in a cage. Cold, dark Darkness tried to put out the fire Elisa had ignited. I felt this battle with every cell. Ice and Flame. They tore me apart, turning my body into a battlefield.

  “Look at me!” Adrian's voice was breaking. “Don't you dare close your eyes!”

  I tried. I honestly tried. I saw his face—white, twisted with terror. I saw a black tear running down his cheek. Blood was coming from his nose, dripping onto my shirt. His hands were trembling from magical exhaustion.

  But the colors were fading from the world. The violet of his eyes washed out, turning grey. Sounds stretched out, turning into a hum.

  Cold crawled from my feet toward my heart. It wasn't the saving cold of his magic. It was another cold. Eternal. Empty.

  *“My little one...”* The thought was sluggish, elusive.

  I tried to feel my connection to him. To the tiny spark inside. But I felt nothing. Only emptiness.

  Panic should have overwhelmed me, but I didn't even have the strength for panic.

  Darkness rolled in like the tide. Soft. Velvety. It promised the pain would go away. That it would all end. I just had to close my eyes. Just allow myself to fall.

  “Adri...an...” my lips moved, but no sound came out.

  His face vanished into a grey haze. Only the sensation of his hands remained—the only thing holding me in this world.

  And then it too vanished.

  The last thing I heard was his scream, full of animal terror, turning into the roar of a wounded beast. And the cold that swallowed me whole, dragging me to the bottom where there was no pain, no fear, no hope.