Scene
The Chamber of Despair quaked with Vel Tharuun’s laughter, each note sinking into the walls like a curse that would not fade.
Vear’s arms locked around Annastara. He held her as if the strength of his will alone could keep her safe. Her small hands clutched at his tunic, her face pressed tight against his chest.
“No one will take you,” he swore, voice breaking. “Not shadow, not stone, not even time.”
Lyra stumbled toward them, her eyes wide. “Vear—”
The darkness deepened. A hand, black as night, stretched across the chamber, vast and merciless.
Vear braced himself, every muscle burning, but the shadow pressed harder, tearing at what he held most dear.
Annastara screamed. Her grip faltered. “Father!”
And then she was gone.
The space in his arms turned hollow, heavier than iron, unbearable in its absence. His cry tore the silence, raw and unrestrained, but there was nothing left to answer. Only the echo of Vel Tharuun’s triumph as the shadow withdrew, leaving emptiness behind.
Vear fell his hands broken. No sword could shield him now, no vow could silence his grief. Tears streaked his face, and for the first time, Lyra saw the unshakable warrior undone. She sank beside him, gathering him close—not only to steady him, but to keep herself from shattering.
Together they wept, bound not by victory but by loss, as the shadow of Vel Tharuun sank deeper into the marrow of their fate.