Arcane Echoes: The Crimson Vow

For a long second that stretched into a cold eternity, Kael's body was a prison of ice. His feet were rooted to the ground, his lungs had forgotten how to draw air, and the only thing moving was the frantic, silent scream trapped behind his teeth. The world was a tableau of horror, every detail etched into his mind with the precision of a master carver: the tear track through the grime on Lyra's cheek, the dark crimson bead of blood on her lip, the rhythmic, sickening motion of Valerius's body.

Then, a sound cut through the paralysis.

It was his name. Or the shape of it.

It wasn't spoken, not really. It was a shattered exhalation of air and agony, a sound so broken it was barely recognizable. The bite on her lip must have failed, and what escaped was the ghost of a plea.

"Kae..."

That single, ruined syllable was not a call for help. It was the sound of her spirit finally tearing, the last thread of her will snapping under the weight of the horror. It was an admission of the end.

And for Kael, it was the sound of the universe cracking in two.

A roar tore from Kael's throat, a sound that was not human. It was the raw, atavistic cry of a predator seeing its mate torn apart. It was pure, unthinking rage given voice. He launched himself forward, his mind utterly blank save for a singular, blazing imperative: "kill!"

He didn't even make it to Valerius.

One of the lord's sycophants, a mountain of a man with a bored expression, stepped into his path. Kael, fueled by nothing but adrenaline, threw a wild punch. It was a clumsy, desperate thing. The man didn't even bother to block it properly. He simply shifted his weight, and Kael's fist glanced off a wall of silk-clad meat with a dull, wet thud.

The retort was a fist like a side of ham. It caught Kael square in the jaw.

PENG!

The sound was like a blacksmith's hammer striking an anvil right next to his ear. Stars exploded behind his eyes. The world tilted violently, and the taste of blood and dirt filled his mouth as he slammed into the cobblestones. The impact rattled his teeth. He tried to scramble up, but a heavy boot planted itself squarely on his chest, pinning him down, forcing the air from his lungs in a painful rush.

"Look, my lord," the brute chuckled, pressing down harder. "The little cripple wants to play."

Rage warred with agony. Kael reached deep inside himself, clawing at his Arcane Core. He tried to draw on his power, to unleash something, anything. He focused his will, his intent a white-hot spike of hatred. He imagined a wave of force, a blast of energy, a simple push to get the man off him.

What he got was a feeble trickle. A dying ember. His Core, so weak and pitiful, sputtered and produced less energy than a child's spark-toy. It was useless. Utterly, pathetically useless. His power, the very thing that defined a man in this world, had failed him when it mattered most.

Laughter rained down on him. Another man joined the first, drawing back his leg for a savage kick. The booted foot connected with Kael's ribs.

CRACK!

The sound was sharp, wet, and sickeningly final. A new, searing pain blossomed in his side, so intense it momentarily stole his breath and thought. He was sure a bone had snapped. They pinned his arms. A boot came down on his neck, pushing his face into the filth of the alley floor. He was trapped. Helpless.

But his own pain was a distant thing. A dull noise in the background. His world had narrowed to the sight of her. He could still see Lyra, his head twisted at an agonizing angle. The assault had ended. Valerius, grunting with satisfaction, pulled himself off her and stood, casually adjusting the front of his fine tunic.

He looked down at Lyra's still, broken form on the ground, not with triumph, but with a look of profound, bored disappointment. He had coveted the jewel, but now it was ruined. A broken toy.

"Well," Valerius sighed, as if mildly inconvenienced. "That's no fun anymore."

He drew a short, wicked-looking blade from his belt, its edge gleaming in the gloom. Kael's heart stopped.

"No," he rasped, the word a strangled, bloody plea. "NO!"

He thrashed, putting every ounce of his being into breaking free, his muscles screaming, his bones grinding together. But the boot on his neck only pressed harder, cutting off his air, his vision starting to speckle with black dots.

Valerius paid him no mind. With a final act of casual nihilism, he bent down and, with a quick, dismissive flick of his wrist, plunged the blade into Lyra's heart.

There was no scream. Just a soft, final gasp. A last, shuddering breath.

Kael watched, his eyes wide with a horror that transcended pain, as the light in her eyes—the same impossible, beautiful light he had seen fade once before in a sterile white room—dimmed and vanished forever.

The silence that followed was the end of the world.