The shards pulsed.
They didn’t just glow—they ignited.
A column of fire erupted from the altar, blinding and searing, cutting through the roof of the sanctum like a beacon to the gods. Screams echoed outside as Hollowborn shrieked in fear or fury. The walls shook with the sound of battle and magic and death.
The Heartblade spun between them, twisting on invisible currents. Its jagged edges melted into unity, forged not by smiths but by sacrifice. Steel gave way to something more. A weapon born not just of power, but pain. It hummed with the weight of every name lost to the Hollow. Every life stolen. Every soul bound to end it.
It then dropped—right into her waiting hands.
Cassian slumped, spent.
“Hold the line,” he whispered. “I’ll catch up.”
She kissed his brow. “Like hell you will. We do thistogether.”
She stood, blade gleaming like a captured star, and turned toward the gate as Mirael descended in a storm of wings and teeth.
The final war had begun.
Seraphine was ready to burn it all.
FORTY
CASSIAN
He couldn’t breathe.
Every inhale scraped his ribs like glass. Every beat of his heart felt wrong—sluggish, off-rhythm, like it wasn’t sure it belonged in his chest anymore.
Cassian clung to consciousness by the thinnest thread, swaying in Seraphine’s grip as the Heartblade’s rebirth burned behind them. The air was thick with ash and magic, howling winds carrying screams from the battlefield just beyond the sanctum walls. But he couldn’t focus on any of it.
All he could see was her.
Seraphine.
Blood on her face, fire in her veins, standing between him and the end of the world.
“I’m fine,” he lied, voice shredded.
She didn’t believe him. Didn’t even pretend to.
“We just need to get?—”
The rest never left his mouth.
A shadow split from the pillar behind them—no sound, no warning. Just movement and sudden pain. A blade drove through his side with the precision of someone who’d been waiting for the perfect moment.
Cassian gasped. His legs buckled.
“Cassian!” Seraphine caught him before he hit the ground, arms strong and trembling all at once.
He looked down. The blood blooming across his tunic was already soaking her fingers.
He smiled, dazed. “Shit. That one’s gonna leave a mark.”
“Shut up.” Her voice cracked. “You’re not—no, godsdammit—don’t you dare.”
“Seraphine.” He reached for her cheek, brushing soot from her skin with shaking fingers. “You have to go. Finish this.”
