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  Katherine lay crumpled beside the dragon door, breath trembling, ribs burning from the fall. Ahead of her, Barang’s massive silhouette dragged Finn’s limp body into the passageway. The vines that guarded the entrance—living, ancient, and violent—reacted immediately, but instead of striking, they retracted in confusion, sensing Finn’s presence being pulled along with Barang.

  Katherine pushed herself upright, fear and fury rising together. I have to do something… anything.

  But how could an ordinary student from another world fight monsters, warlords, enchanted vines?

  She swallowed hard, then stepped through the dragon door.

  At once, the vines snapped awake—hissing, tightening, surging toward her like serpents defending a sacred nest.

  But a flicker of white hair appeared beside her.

  Lir.

  Still pale, still shaking, barely standing—but there.

  Her left hand glowed faintly with a watery-blue aura, flickering like a dying lantern.

  “We cannot let Barang take the goblet,” Lir whispered, voice cracking. “If he does, everything—your world, mine, Irin—will fall.”

  The vines struck again. Lir’s eyes sharpened; she whispered a string of ancient Elven syllables. A few vines recoiled obediently—but others disobeyed. They lashed out, striking Katherine’s arms, legs, and back. Katherine grit her teeth, stumbling forward with Lir leaning heavily on her shoulder.

  Together they advanced.

  Every step was torture—Lir sweating, trembling; Katherine forcing her legs to keep moving despite the vines clawing at her skin.

  And then the passageway widened.

  They stepped into the dome.

  The air here felt wrong—heavy, humming, as if the stone remembered every scream it had ever heard. Far ahead, on the silver pathway that jutted toward the circular platform suspended above an endless pit, Finn lay sprawled on the floor.

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  And Barang—Karit gleaming in his hand—was almost at the platform.

  “No!” Lir gasped, and despite her exhaustion she dashed forward, stumbling, dragging more vines with her as if the living corridor had not fully released her.

  Barang turned, mildly surprised, then bored.

  Lir lifted her left arm and muttered her spell. A concentrated ring of wind formed around her palm—thin, sharp, crackling like a spinning blade—and she hurled it forward.

  It vanished before it ever touched him.

  Her legs buckled. She crashed to the stone floor, breath ripping from her lungs.

  Barang walked to her, unimpressed. He grabbed her by the neck with one hand, lifted her effortlessly, and slammed her into the dome wall.

  The stone cracked like brittle ice.

  Lir collapsed, blood trickling from her mouth.

  Finn stirred.

  His eyes opened—unfocused at first, then sharpening as they landed on Lir’s unmoving body.

  He pushed himself upright, jaw clenched, arm hanging wrong from its socket.

  He ran.

  Barang didn’t even raise the Karit. He simply caught Finn’s punch, twisted the arm backward, and cracked it like a twig. Finn dropped to his knees with a strangled cry—

  Barang’s boot hit his ribs, and Finn sailed across the dome, skidding to a halt in front of Katherine.

  “Finn!” Katherine cried, sliding beside him.

  He rose again. Somehow. Broken arm dangling, vision swimming.

  He charged one more time—

  Barang’s kick hit his left ear. The world spun wildly. Finn dropped to the floor in a heap.

  Then Barang stepped forward, Karit low, and stabbed Finn—once, twice, four times, six—each thrust fast, methodical, merciless.

  Blood pooled beneath Finn like an expanding shadow.

  Katherine screamed and ran.

  Barang was crouched over Finn’s mangled body, examining his handiwork. Her punch struck his jaw—not that it mattered. He caught her throat with ease.

  He lifted her higher. Her feet kicked helplessly in the air.

  Then the Karit slid into Katherine’s abdomen.

  Her breath hitched. Her eyes rolled white. A strangled sound escaped her throat as blood dripped down her shirt, down the blade, down Barang’s wrist.

  “Katherine!” Finn rasped, voice wet, trembling. He crawled. He grabbed Barang’s ankle.

  It wasn’t strength.

  It was defiance.

  Barang looked down, annoyed. He dropped Katherine like a discarded doll, then kicked Finn so hard the boy slid across the stone floor—stopping inches from the edge of the bottomless pit.

  Finn pushed himself up again.

  Barang’s expression twisted—rage now, not amusement.

  “This ends,” he growled. “I will not be stopped by children.”

  He raised the Karit high.

  He dashed toward Finn, blade aimed at the boy’s heart—

  And the blade pierced flesh.

  But not Finn’s.

  Katherine—bleeding, shaking, barely alive—had thrown herself in front of him.

  The Karit sank into her chest.

  Her hand found Finn’s.

  Her fingers tightened weakly.

  Their body was pushed from the impact of Barang.

  Finn and Katherine fell—together—into the endless pit, their silhouettes swallowed by the abyss.

  Barang stared down after them, chest rising and falling with ragged fury.

  The dome went silent.

  Only the pit continued to whisper.

  Endless. Hunger. Depth.