Amidst the night's chaos, Caden stood surrounded by clattering armor and looming death, a small figure of stubborn defiance. Blood dripped from a cut above his brow, each drop marking the seconds of his desperate struggle. His eyes, wide and wild with effort, sought escape from the trap that had closed in around him. Cries of retreat and the clamor of a losing fight filled his ears. He was cornered, and the threat was palpable. He was outnumbered, and the fear was real.

  The youth squared his shoulders against the storm, his blade an awkward extension of his determination. Each swing was frantic but earnest, his arms heavy from the unrelenting tide of enemies. He stumbled, felt the burn of panic rise in his throat, but forced himself back into the fight with sheer will. Ana's last words echoed in his mind: "Survive, kid. That's an order." They were the chant that drove him, the thread he clung to.

  Retreat, they screamed. Fall back, they urged. Caden wanted to listen, wanted to heed their terrified warnings. But the way out was already closed to him. He had to do what he had to do. He had to make it. Ana would be pissed if he didn't.

  The ground was a graveyard of broken weapons and trampled courage, and each step brought him closer to its welcome embrace. The air hummed with the din of battle, with defeat's last desperate breath. He didn't want it to be his.

  His sword was too large, but it was all he had. It wasn't just a weapon; it was a beacon.

  He staggered. He fought on.

  Where are you, Ana?

  A gash above his brow leaked warm and insistent, clouding his vision, urging him to close his eyes and let the dream—her dream—take him too. He set his jaw against it, a last act of defiance.

  Then Ana was there, her breath wild in her chest, a heartbeat in her ears. She gasped, gasped as if the very act of it was rebirth, the very act of it was breath itself. Caden! her mind screamed. Where are you? Ana! his mind screamed. Where are you?

  Her world went red with urgency. Ruby urgency.

  "Caden!"

  The sound of her own voice cracked through the chaos. She could not have said if it was rage or relief, if it was joy or terror. She only knew it was enough to pull her to her feet, enough to keep the impossible world from claiming her.

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  Ana surged forward, her aura mesmerizing, with small red lightning bolts radiating from her electrified presence. The battlefield was drenched with desperation, yet her resolve and determination were palpable to everyone around, even overwhelming Zarathos. She knew what she had seen, and the surge of magical power within the elf reached its peak—it would not be the end. Not for her, not for the kid.

  "Caden!" This time it was his voice, and his voice was alive.

  Ana found him in the middle of the fight, found him and drew a breath so deep it felt like her lungs might collapse from it.

  "Don't let them get the better of you, kid." Ana threw herself at Caden's side, her blade already cutting a wild, brilliant arc through the chaos.

  The blood on his face was both terrifying and beautiful, the mark of his courage, the sign of his defiance. "Trying not to," he gasped. His relief was the greatest sound she'd ever heard.

  Ana fought as if the truth of the world could be carved with the edge of her sword. With each stroke, she defied it. With each stroke, she defined it. With each stroke, she drew closer to the parts of herself she had almost lost.

  They fought.

  And the fight was good.

  The sounds of retreat were no longer a song they had to sing. The tide of enemies ebbed with each motion of their blades, and Ana felt the part of herself that had almost surrendered to the dark rise with her own need to protect, her own desire to keep the dream a dream, to make this reality a thing worth having.

  She grinned at him, and the grin felt wild, felt loose. Felt so much like Ethan's in the dream that it almost scared her back into unconsciousness.

  The break in battle lasted less than a heartbeat. A small pause. A tiny miracle.

  As the tide turned, as the balance of the impossible night shifted to their favor, she felt the heat of the struggle, the joy of the struggle, and knew that she was alive.

  "Your fate is sealed!"

  The words struck her, the tone struck her.

  A figure emerged from the remnants of chaos, dark and familiar. Ana had no dreams left. No waking fear.

  "Go," she ordered. "Caden. Go."

  He hesitated. "Ana—"

  She met his gaze, steady and fierce and filled with the promise of her own breath, her own desire, her own certainty.

  "That's an order." Her mouth twitched into a grin, and this time the grin was not a threat, not a sign that she was ready to let him go.

  Caden took it like he'd taken everything.

  Then she was alone with the figure that would haunt her no longer. With Zarathos.

  She faced him.

  Her sword sang as it cut the air, as it cut the reality of her own making, the dreams of her own reality. Zarathos moved to meet it, his own blade a mark of lethal grace. The confrontation was fierce, but Ana was fiercer.

  They danced the violent dance of all things once thought lost.

  "You have to fight me with more than that, little girl," Zarathos sneered. His eyes were alive with the thrill of it, with the heat of it, with the need to break her down.

  "Oh, I will," Ana replied, and she did.

  This was not a dream.

  This was not a defeat.

  They fought, Ana's determination unyielding, Ana's spirit unbent.

  The fight was epic. The fight was what she needed. The fight was hers.