The room exploded into motion.
Ophelia and Lilith surged forward like twin storms of shadow, their darkness spilling across the chamber in crashing waves. The walls groaned under the pressure as their magic collided with ours—raw, primal energy that shattered windows and split the air with deafening cracks.
Lilith came for me, gliding with eerie grace, a phantom wreathed in night.
But Kieran was faster.
"Your opponent is me," he growled, intercepting her mid-charge with a crash of blood-red sigils that lit the floor beneath them.
We'd made a silent decision before walking into this: take the one who isn't ours. To bear each other's burden. To soften the guilt of what needed to be done.
But that didn't make it easier.
Lilith sneered, eyes glowing with contempt. "You think you can handle me, little boy? Don't flatter yourself."
