Frozen. Confused. Panic seized her completely as she held Kael in her arms, her trembling gaze locked on the pulsing burn searing into his side. His screams tore through the silence of the night—raw, unrelenting, and gut-wrenching. The sound carved into her soul. She could only imagine the agony ripping through him, but her mind was spinning, collapsing under the weight of her own terror—desperate to make the right decision, desperate to find any way to ease his suffering.
Her thoughts spiraled in a storm of fear and helplessness until suddenly—like a sharp gust clearing fog—Ms. Miller's voice resurfaced in her memory.
The quiet warning.
The words she had whispered in private, a caution Lyria had brushed aside at the time but now struck her like a blade to the chest.
"Kael is stubborn. He won't treat his wounds, even if they get worse. He'd rather hide them—from you, from anyone. This will hurt him one day. If my herbs stop working—which I fear they will—you must promise me, Lyria. Promise me you'll get him to a mage."
Those words slammed into her, jolting her senses back to life. She realized with crushing clarity why she hadn't tried to bind the wound—why she'd hesitated, paralyzed by the fear of causing him more pain, terrified of making the wrong move.
But now the truth was unbearable.
If she did nothing, he would die.
His jacket clung to his side, soaked, dark, and heavy with blood. His body trembled in her arms, cold sweat slick on his skin, his breath coming in ragged gasps. There was no more time to think.
Without hesitation, she hoisted him onto the horse, her heart pounding wildly, her arms trembling as she struggled to cradle his weight. She mounted behind him, clutching him tightly, pressing her cheek against his back as if sheer willpower could hold him together.
"Hang in there, Little Hawk… please… just keep fighting. Please, just stay with me."
Her voice cracked, the desperation raw in her throat, but she urged the horse forward into the darkness, riding with a fierce, desperate urgency. The cold wind bit at her face, stung her eyes, but she didn't care. She had barely slept before Kael's screams had torn her from slumber—and now, here she was—racing through the night, chasing a hope that seemed to flicker like a dying flame.
Somewhere, there had to be a mage.
Somewhere, there had to be help.
She would find them. She had to. She refused to believe otherwise.
The road stretched endlessly ahead, the forest closing in around her like silent watchers. The pounding of hooves beneath her seemed to echo her heartbeat—a frantic rhythm urging her forward, faster, faster.
And all the while, Kael's breathing grew shallower, his body colder.
Please, don't you dare give up on me.
At the same time, back in Celestis Rise, a quiet revelation unfolded.
Thadeus finally reached a critical conclusion in his research. The strange ability he'd discovered—the power to bend light—had begun as a spark, a curious flicker. Over time, that spark had grown. He had studied it carefully, refined it, and now he honed his skill with razor-sharp precision. His understanding deepened, like sharpening a blade until it could cut through the very fabric of what was known.
But the ability was not what fascinated him most.
What consumed his thoughts was the question: Were there others?
He had combed through ancient records, chased whispers in the dark, scoured every lead, but found nothing solid. Nothing—until he saw Dren.
The memory of that fight between Dren and Dexter still echoed in his mind. It hadn't just been raw talent or stubborn will—it was something else. Something awakened. Thadeus had suspected for some time that children born after the Battle of the End possessed dormant abilities, gifts no one fully understood, let alone knew how to awaken. Until now, it had all been theory.
But after witnessing Dren's clash with Dexter, he was certain.
Dren had unlocked something, albeit unconsciously.
Excitement burned in his chest, driving him to his desk long into the night as he pieced together every shred of evidence. He scribbled notes feverishly, cross-referencing ancient texts, drawing lines between the past and the present.
He needed to tell Dren. He needed to help him control it—if Dren was willing.
Thadeus threw on his cloak, grabbed a torch, and quietly slipped out of his room within the keep. The hour was late—deep into the night—but he moved quickly, his footsteps light against the stone floors.
It's far too late for the other Vanguards to be awake. I won't draw suspicion. I can do this quietly.
Or so he believed.
He descended the winding stairs, approaching the keep's main gates when a cold voice drifted from the shadows.
"Where are you off to with such haste and excitement, Thadeus?"
He froze.
His blood turned to ice.
I could have sworn they were all asleep. No one should be awake. No one!
Panic clawed at his throat, but he forced himself to breathe.
Remain calm. Remain in control.
Slowly, he turned toward the source of the voice, steadying his heartbeat as best he could. The torch flickered in his hand, its flame casting trembling shadows across the walls.
His mind raced for a convincing answer.
But he was three steps too late.
Assumptions can feel right—but they can also get you killed.
Meanwhile, Kael's condition worsened.
His body convulsed violently in Lyria's arms. Seizures wracked him, his eyes sinking, his skin pale as death. Black veins spread like wildfire, crawling beneath his flesh, claiming him inch by inch. Lyria could feel it—he didn't have much time left.
"No… no, no, no, you don't get to give up! Dammit, Kael, you have to keep fighting!" she cried, her voice cracking, the tears she'd fought to hold back now streaming down her face.
But somewhere, deep inside, she knew the words weren't just for him. They were for her too.
Her panic clawed at her, threatening to consume her, but the bond she shared with Kael—fragile yet unbreakable—propelled her forward, kept her from falling apart.
Just a little further. Just a little longer. Hold on for me. Please.
Tonight was a night of agony, of desperate prayers and frantic hearts.
A night where panic, pain, and the flickering hope for salvation wove together in cruel tension.
And as the stars bled quietly across the sky, only one question remained—
Would the dawn bring healing and redemption, or something far, far worse?