The room shook violently, the walls cracking under the strain of the magic. Elyria gritted her teeth, dodging a bolt of magical energy as she and Stryker pressed forward, trying to get closer to the weapon. She could feel the pull of the vortex, its power immense and overwhelming.
“We have to destroy the weapon!” Elyria shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of magic.
Stryker nodded, his face set with grim determination. “If we don’t stop it now, there won’t be a world left to save.”
Just as they closed in on the mage, he unleashed a wave of foul energy that sent them both crashing to the ground. Elyria gasped as the force of the blow knocked the wind from her lungs, her vision swimming. She struggled to her feet, her magic flickering as the weight of the battle bore down on her.
And then she saw it—the mage was about to activate the weapon.
Her heart seized in her chest as she realized the gravity of the situation. The weapon, once fully activated, would unravel the entire realm. Everything—the fae, the magic, the very fabric of reality—would be torn apart.
But in that same moment, her eyes darted to Stryker. He was on the ground, wounded, dark blood staining his side where the mage’s magic had struck him. He struggled to rise, his expression twisted in pain as he fought to stay conscious.
Elyria’s breath caught in her throat.The weapon... or Stryker.
The impossible choice hung before her, all but crushing her. She had fought her entire life to protect the fae realm, to defend her people from those who sought to destroy it. But Stryker—he was everything she had tried to forget, everything she had once loved and lost. And now, he was lying there, vulnerable and bleeding, the man who had fought beside her, the man who had stood with her even when she didn’t think she could trust him again.
Tears pricked at her eyes as the world seemed to slow around her. If she went for the weapon, she could stop the mage, but it might mean Stryker would die. If she chose Stryker, she riskedeverything—her people, her world, everything she had sworn to protect.
“Elyria!” Stryker’s voice broke through the chaos, rough and desperate. “Don’t... don’t think about me. You know what you have to do.”
Her heart twisted painfully, but she knew he was right. She had to stop the mage. The fate of their entire world rested on it.
With a final, heart-wrenching decision, Elyria turned toward the weapon. Her magic surged, flaring with a ferocity she hadn’t felt in years, and she launched herself at the mage, picking up the sword as she struck out with everything she had.
The impact was cataclysmic.
The mage let out a scream as Elyria’s magic collided with his, tearing through his defenses. The vortex above the weapon shuddered, the malicious energy twisting and writhing as the fabric of reality threatened to tear apart. But Elyria didn’t stop. She pushed harder, her magic burning bright as she drove the blade deeper, shattering the mage’s control over the weapon.
With a deafening crack, the vortex imploded, the dark magic dissipating in a brilliant flash of light. The weapon was destroyed, the threat to their world averted—but at a devastating cost.
Elyria collapsed to the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion, her magic nearly drained. She gasped for breath, her vision blurred as the reality of what had just happened washed over her.
“Stryker...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She tried to crawl to him but couldn’t. The rogue mage screamed in agony and rage, advancing on her, preparing to end her. Elyria closed her eyes and prepared for her life to end.
“Now you die,” roared the mage.
“I don’t think so,” said Stryker, finding the sword, covering her body, and thrusting the sword up and into the mage, causinghim to drop his hands as he staggered back. Stryker found his feet and whirled around, swinging the sword in a powerful arc, separating the mage’s head from his shoulders.
After, Stryker knelt beside her, laying down the sword and cradling her in his arms. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, but he was alive. They were both alive. Elyria pressed her hand to his wound, her magic flickering weakly as she tried to heal him.
“Don’t expend the energy. I’ll be fine,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a rasp as he grinned down at her. “You... you did it.”
Elyria swallowed hard, tears burning in her eyes. “We did it.” She reached for his hand, her grip weak but steady. “Don’t... don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” Stryker whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not letting go—not now, not ever again.”
In the aftermath of the battle, Elyria stood with Stryker at the edge of the ruined stronghold, watching as the fae worked together to rebuild. Tavish’s weapons had been pushed to their limits, and Elowen’s healing magic had saved countless lives, but the scars of the battle remained.
The High Council had been shaken to its core. Oberon’s complicity had been exposed, and the mage’s dark ambitions had been thwarted. But the cost had been high, and the road ahead was uncertain.
Elyria glanced at Stryker, their shoulders brushing as they stood side by side. The electricity between them still hummed, but there was something different now—a sense of unity, purpose, and trust.
“We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” Stryker said quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion.
Elyria nodded, her gaze sweeping over the rubble. “But what about Oberon?”
He turned to her, his dark eyes filled with the same intensity that had always been there. “How about we recover from our last adventure before we start on the next. Think you can handle it?”
She grinned. “Maybe we could take a couple of days.”
Stryker laughed. “Maybe.”
“Have you heard anything from the Duvall sisters?”
He nodded, sobering. “They said they can’t be sure, but they think Oberon may have escaped into another realm, but there’s no way of really knowing. We’ll have to wait to get better intelligence. Wherever he is, we’ll find him and put an end to him, but let’s give it a few days.”
As the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ruined stronghold, Elyria knew that they were just beginning. The world they had fought for—the future they were building—was fragile, but it was theirs.
