Elden carved his way through King Hazrael’s forces, his strikes precise, calculated, but his eyes were constantly searching—for Aerin, for Talon, for anyone still standing. The battlefield was a nightmare of steel and screams, but he didn’t falter. Not until he caught sight of Talon, drenched in blood and rain, surrounded by bodies.

  “Damn it, Talon,” Elden muttered, changing course.

  Kael was already there, his sword flashing as he cut down an enemy that had gotten too close to Talon’s side. “He’s going to get himself killed,” Kael said sharply, glancing at Elden. “And if he does, this fight is lost.”

  Elden scoffed, slamming his blade into the chest of a soldier who had rushed them. “You think I don’t know that? He’s a wreck. Someone has to pull him out of this madness.”

  “And that someone isn’t you,” Kael said, stepping in front of Elden and blocking another strike. His voice was cool, his movements fluid, like he’d been born for the battlefield. “He doesn’t trust you.”

  Elden bristled, his grip tightening on his sword. “And you think he trusts you? You’ve barely been here a day.”

  “I’ve been here long enough to see he’s lost,” Kael snapped back. “And if you’d stop posturing for five seconds, maybe we could actually do something about it.”

  The tension between them crackled, even in the chaos. But before either could say more, a roar split the air, and a massive beast lumbered toward them—a twisted creation of Hazrael’s Priestess, all muscle and jagged teeth.

  “Focus,” Kael barked, his voice sharp. He moved first, his sword slicing toward the beast’s legs, while Elden flanked it from the side, his blade aimed for its neck.

  The creature howled, swinging wildly, and Kael was knocked back, landing hard in the mud. Elden lunged, driving his sword into the beast’s throat, but it wasn’t enough. It turned on him, claws raking across his arm, and he staggered, blood pouring from the wound.

  Kael was on his feet again in seconds, his blade cleaving through the creature’s spine. It collapsed with a final, guttural roar, and Kael turned to Elden, who was clutching his bleeding arm.

  “You’re welcome,” Kael said flatly, offering him a hand.

  Elden ignored it, pulling himself to his feet. “Don’t get cocky, Dravenfell. This fight isn’t over.”

  “Then try not to bleed out before it is,” Kael retorted, already moving toward the next wave of enemies.

  Elden glared after him, muttering a curse under his breath. But when his gaze flickered back to Talon, still spiraling in the distance, his expression hardened. He didn’t like Kael. He didn’t trust him. But for now, they had no choice but to fight side by side—and maybe, just maybe, pull Talon out of this before it was too late.

  Elden gritted his teeth, shaking off the pain in his arm as Kael kept pace beside him, the battlefield swallowing them whole. Rain pounded down, soaking through their armor, and the metallic stench of blood clung to the air.

  "You’re slowing down," Kael called over his shoulder, his tone clipped but biting. "Didn’t think rebels were this fragile."

  Elden snorted, gripping his blade tighter. “Careful, Dravenfell. You might actually sound concerned.” He shoved past Kael, cutting through a soldier charging toward them. “But then again, you’ve always been good at acting like you care.”

  Kael’s jaw tightened, his blade flashing as he dispatched another enemy. “You think I don’t care? About her?”

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  Elden spun, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, this is about Aerin now, is it?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re hardly the knight in shining armor you pretend to be, Kael. You left her when she needed you most.”

  Kael flinched—just barely—but it was enough for Elden to catch. “You know nothing about what happened back then,” Kael said, his voice cold. “I’ve been fighting for her since the day Hazrael tore her world apart. Where were you, Elden? Sneaking through shadows, waiting for the right moment to look like the hero?”

  Elden’s hand clenched around his sword hilt, his knuckles white. “I’ve been at her side, risking everything while you’ve been gods-know-where, playing spy or soldier or whatever suits you. Don’t pretend you’ve done more for her than I have.”

  Kael stepped closer, their faces inches apart, the chaos of the battle momentarily drowned out by the intensity between them. “And yet,” Kael said softly, his voice cutting like a blade, “she looks at me like I’m the only one who’s ever mattered.”

  Elden’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking at his temple. He opened his mouth to retort, but the ground shook violently, cutting him off. The massive beast they had felled moments earlier was stirring, its grotesque limbs twitching as dark magic pulsed through it.

  Kael cursed under his breath, stepping back. “This isn’t over,” he said sharply, turning to face the creature.

  Elden smirked, though his eyes remained locked on the beast. “It’s never over with you, is it?”

  “Just try not to die,” Kael shot back, raising his sword.

  “And give you satisfaction?” Elden lunged forward, his blade cutting through the beast’s side as Kael attacked from the other direction. Their movements were almost synchronized—one striking high, the other low—despite the tension crackling between them.

  The beast let out a guttural roar, collapsing once again, this time for good. Elden stepped back, breathing hard, his eyes flickering to Kael. “We’re not finished.”

  Kael wiped blood and rain from his face, his gaze steady. “No, we’re not. But for her sake, we keep fighting. Until the end.”

  Elden’s expression darkened, but he gave a sharp nod. “Until the end.”

  Even as they turned back toward the fray, the air between them was thick with unspoken words, their rivalry burning hotter than ever. They might have been allies for now, but beneath the surface, the battle for Aerin’s heart was only just beginning.

  The battlefield raged with chaos, the clang of steel on steel mixing with the cries of the wounded and dying. Hazrael stood tall, his dark armor streaked with blood, his sword slicing through the air with precision. But his mind was far from the carnage around him. He could feel the weight of Priestess's magic, like an invisible chain binding him to her will.

  As he swung his sword to cleave through another enemy, a sudden flash of pain shot through his side—Eryn’s magic had found its mark. He stumbled, blood pooling at his feet, and in that moment, he saw it—Priestess, standing in the distance, watching him. Not rushing to his aid, not offering her protection as she always had before. She was merely... observing.

  He gritted his teeth, pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp sting of his injury. His gaze never left Priestess, her cold eyes fixed on the battlefield, seemingly indifferent to his suffering.

  This wasn't the first time he had felt it, but now it was undeniable. She wasn’t here for him. She wasn’t fighting for him. She wasn’t even caring if he lived or died. He was nothing more than a pawn in her game—a tool for her power, a weapon to be wielded and discarded at will.

  He fought through the pain, cutting down enemies, his movements driven by something far darker than his previous obedience. He could feel the strings she had pulled, the way she controlled him, and a sick realization began to settle in his chest. He was expendable. She had never truly cared.

  And then it happened—another wave of Eryn’s magic surged at him, aimed directly at his heart. The force of it knocked him back, sending him crashing to the ground. But The Priestess did nothing. Her eyes were cold, her attention fixed elsewhere. Her magic, the force that had once protected him, is now absent.

  At that moment, King Hazrael knew—The Priestess had been using him all along, and he was no more than a shadow to her. She had no intention of saving him.

  Rage boiled within him, hotter and fiercer than anything he had ever felt. His grip on his sword tightened. The magic Priestess had given him the power she had bestowed upon him—he no longer cared for it. He was done being her puppet.

  With a violent roar, Hazrael stood, ignoring the searing pain in his side, and broke free from the magic that had held him for so long. His vision blurred with fury, his soul ignited by the betrayal he had just witnessed.

  He turned toward the Priestess, his eyes burning with a newfound resolve. "I am no one's pawn," he muttered under his breath. And with that, the invisible chains that had bound him for so long shattered.