Adrian cradled Lyra’s limp body in his arms, her fragile frame trembling with each shallow breath. Blood matted her silver hair, streaking her pale skin and pooling into the torn fabric of her shirt. He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice trembling. “Lyra… don’t leave me now. Not like this.”
The clearing was eerily silent, the aftermath of the battle leaving nothing but destruction and anguish. The faint rustling of leaves felt deafening in Adrian’s ears as guilt gnawed at his chest. He looked down at her face, so still and fragile, and clenched his jaw.
Footsteps sounded behind him, breaking through the stillness. Adrian spun, his blade snapping up instinctively. Misery and Isla emerged from the trees, their expressions tight with worry. Isla’s gaze immediately fell on Lyra, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Is she…?” Isla’s voice wavered as tears filled her eyes.
Adrian lowered his blade, his voice sharp but raw. “She’s alive,” he said. “But barely.”
Misery crouched beside him, her crimson eyes scanning Lyra with a calculating gaze. She reached out carefully, her hands steady as they brushed over the wound at Lyra’s temple. “She’s fading,” Misery said grimly. “We need to stabilize her before it’s too late.”
Isla dropped to her knees next to Lyra, gently brushing strands of hair from her daughter’s face. “Lyra…” she whispered, her tears falling freely. “You’re strong. Please, you have to hold on.”
Draven emerged from the shadows, his heavy steps breaking through the mounting tension. His sharp amber eyes darted over the scene, his mouth pressing into a grim line as he took in Lyra’s condition and Adrian’s bloodied form. “We have to move,” he said, his tone grave but steady. “Seraphine’s forces won’t stop now. They’ll come for her—and for all of us.”
Adrian hesitated, his gaze fixed on Lyra’s face. The thought of moving her in such a fragile state felt like a risk, but staying here was worse. The lingering aura of Seraphine’s portal still hung in the air, a grim reminder of their failure. Adrian’s teeth ground together as he nodded.
He adjusted his hold on Lyra, lifting her as carefully as he could. Her head lolled weakly against his chest, and the weight of her vulnerability made his heart ache. “Where do we go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“There’s a safe house nearby,” Draven said, already leading the way. “It’s not far, but we need to move fast.”
Adrian followed, his steps quick and purposeful, though his every movement was shadowed by doubt and guilt. He glanced down at Lyra, her face peaceful yet too pale, and felt a pang in his chest. Her brother had abandoned her, and now she was caught in the crossfire of a war she hadn’t asked for.
Isla hurried alongside him, her hands shaking as she gripped his arm. “She’s strong,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “She’s been through so much—she’ll make it. She has to.”
Adrian didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to speak, his thoughts too tangled with rage and despair. He had failed her, failed to protect her when she needed him most. Eryon’s words from the portal replayed in his mind, haunting him.
“Take care of her. She’s all that matters.”
Misery walked just behind them, her crimson eyes scanning the trees for any sign of pursuit. Her usual sharp tongue was absent, replaced by a grim determination. “If Seraphine’s forces catch up to us, we won’t stand a chance in this condition,” she muttered, gripping the hilt of her blade. “We can’t afford to stop.”
Draven glanced back at them, his jaw tightening. “We won’t stop. Not until she’s safe.”
The group moved swiftly, the forest closing in around them as night began to fall. The shadows grew longer, the air colder, and Adrian felt a knot tighten in his chest. He looked down at Lyra’s fragile form, his voice breaking as he whispered, “I’ll protect you. No matter what it takes.”
But even as he spoke, doubt clawed at him. Could he keep that promise? And what price would they all pay for failing to stop Seraphine?