The thunder cracked before the sky did.
Aurea jerked up from the cot, breath tight in her lungs, her limbs slick with cold sweat. The vision still clung to her—sapphire chains around her wrists, an eye of blood watching from above, Kael's voice torn by screams she couldn't hear.
And something deeper.
Something… calling.
A high-pitched whistle sliced through the silence, followed by the tremor of explosions rocking the northern perimeter. From beyond the frost-lined windows, a red flare pierced the clouds—signal fire.
They were under attack.
She reached for her cloak, bare feet hitting the stone floor. Before her fingers could fasten the buckle, the door slammed open. Kael stormed in, crimson light cutting along the blade drawn in his hand. His white shirt was half-buttoned, sword strapped over his shoulder in haste, and his eyes—
His eyes found her instantly.
"You're awake. Good. With me."
No explanations. No hesitation.
Just the heat of urgency sparking between them.
The corridor outside boiled with noise. Riven's low snarl echoed from below, and Eryan's voice snapped orders with a clarity that cut through panic like a blade through silk.
Aurea kept close as Kael led her up the spiral staircase. The higher they climbed, the thicker the air became with smoke, magic, and something more primal—fear.
"What are we fighting?" she asked.
"Not what. Who." Kael's jaw tightened. "Someone's tracked the Archive's pulse. They knew it activated last night."
"How"
"They were waiting."
At the observatory tower, Eryan stood over the central scrying mirror, his usually immaculate robes scorched at the edges. He didn't glance up when they entered.
"They breached the wards in three places. Arcane displacement, heavy weaponry. Smart. Coordinated. Not Mireborn."
"Not them?" Kael frowned. "Then who—"
Eryan looked up. His silver eyes didn't blink.
"Cult of the End Thread."
The name struck something dark and ancient in Aurea's memory, like a melody from a dream she didn't remember having.
Kael cursed. Riven's boots landed heavily behind them as he appeared from the other stairwell, blood on his gauntlets but no sign of injury.
"They're not here for blood," Riven growled. "They're here for her."
Aurea didn't flinch.
Instead, she stepped forward, between the three of them, into the circle of tension and fury.
"Then let them try."
Eryan blinked. Riven smirked. Kael just stared—there was something unreadable in his gaze, like a battle between admiration and desperation.
"You're not ready," Kael said softly. "You're still learning to"
"Then I'll learn in fire."
She met his eyes. "I won't hide again. Not while you fight for me."
That cracked something in him. He stepped forward, so close she could feel the warmth of his skin, his voice lowered.
"You're going to be the end of me, Aurea."
She smiled, but there was steel in it. "Then let's make sure I'm worth dying for."
The first wave hit like thunder made flesh.
Creatures in red-veiled masks climbed the outer walls, fire breaking through sigils like knives through wax. The air filled with the scent of burning salt and blood—a sacred mixture, known to fuel binding rituals.
Aurea raised her hand. The sigil at her wrist flared, and the Archive responded.
For the first time, it didn't burn.
It sang.
White light erupted from her palm, slicing through a cultist mid-leap. Another screamed as shadows yanked him into nothingness—Riven's doing, dark tendrils blooming from his blade.
Kael fought beside her, each movement clean, efficient, lethal. Eryan held the wards together with raw will, bleeding from the nose, fingers splayed as glyphs spun around his hands.
And in that chaos, Aurea laughed.
Because for the first time, she wasn't a burden. She wasn't the chased.
She was part of the fight.
The assault waned just before dawn. Smoke coiled through broken windows. Blood pooled in the hallways. Dozens dead. But the Archive was safe.
For now.
Kael stood at the balcony, watching the sky lighten. His knuckles were bruised. His shirt was gone. Aurea approached quietly, a healing salve in her hand.
"Let me," she said.
He didn't resist. She touched his shoulder, tracing a cut, the salve warm under her fingertips. He shivered slightly at her touch.
"You said once that you didn't know what I was," she whispered.
"I still don't." His voice was rough. "But I know what I'd fight to keep you."
Silence. The kind that said more than words.
And then
A distant crack.
They both looked up. A shimmer split the sky like a hairline fracture.
Not from the cult. Not from this world.
Something older.
Something watching.