The chamber’s oppressive silence was broken only by the shallow rise and fall of Eryon’s breath. His pallor was stark against the dim light, his once indomitable form now a frail shadow. Seraphine stepped forward, her silver eyes glinting with cold determination as her voice sliced through the tension.
“We’re out of time,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut stone. “Either we save him now, or we lose him forever.”
Isla’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, her voice trembling with restrained fury. “You only care about what he can do for you,” she spat, her words brimming with disdain. “He’s my son, not your pawn.”
Seraphine’s gaze didn’t waver, her expression as unyielding as steel. “And you care too much about what he used to be,” she retorted icily. “Your son, your little boy, is gone. What lies before you is something greater—something the world needs.”
Draven stepped forward, his towering form casting a long shadow across the room. “He’s not yours to decide for,” he growled, his voice deep and dangerous. “I’ll die before I let you turn him into one of your monsters.”
Misery’s crimson eyes darted between them, her hands trembling as she reached for Eryon’s limp arm. “He’s already dying!” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “You can argue about morals all you want, but if we don’t act now, there’ll be nothing left to save.”
Seraphine turned her gaze to Lyra, her expression softening ever so slightly. “You’re the one with the strongest bond to him,” she said, her voice losing its edge. “This decision belongs to you.”
All eyes turned to Lyra, who knelt beside her twin, her hands clutching his limp one as if her touch alone could anchor him to life. Her silver eyes flickered with uncertainty, her shoulders trembling under the weight of the room’s silent demand.
“Lyra,” Isla said softly, her voice breaking with sorrow. “Please, don’t let them take him away from us.”
But Misery’s voice cut through, urgent and pleading. “Lyra, if you love him, don’t let him die like this.”
The room held its collective breath as Lyra’s lips parted, her voice trapped somewhere between a sob and a scream.
***
Lyra collapsed beside Eryon’s still form, her knees striking the cold stone with a hollow thud. Her fingers curled around his, their entwined hands trembling as tears streamed down her face. Her voice was a fragile whisper, trembling like the flicker of a dying candle.
“You were always stronger than me,” she said, her words spilling out in a torrent of grief. “You protected me when no one else could. And now I can’t do anything to save you.”
Her sobs filled the chamber, breaking the hearts of those who listened. Adrian stepped forward hesitantly, his crimson eyes glinting with sorrow. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle but firm. “This isn’t your fault, Lyra,” he said softly. “He’d want you to keep fighting.”
Lyra shook her head violently, her tears streaking the pale skin of her cheeks. “But how can I fight without him?” she cried, her voice raw and broken. Her silver eyes searched Adrian’s for answers, but his gaze only reflected the depth of her despair.
Misery stood silently nearby, her hands gripping the edges of Eryon’s cot as if trying to steady herself. Even her usual sharp retorts failed her as she watched Lyra unravel. Seraphine, for once, didn’t press her point, though her piercing gaze lingered on Lyra as if measuring her resolve.
Adrian crouched beside Lyra, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, his tone firm. “You’ve always been stronger than you think. Eryon knows that. He wouldn’t want you to give up now.”
Lyra’s tears slowed, her chest heaving as she stared at her brother’s pale face. Memories of their childhood flooded her mind—Eryon’s laughter, his unwavering presence, the way he shielded her from every storm. The thought of losing him forever was a weight she couldn’t bear.
“I…” she began, her voice cracking as she looked up at Misery. Her gaze shifted to Seraphine, whose expression remained unreadable. “Do it,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.
Misery hesitated, her crimson eyes wide as if she hadn’t truly expected Lyra to agree. “Lyra—”
“Do it!” Lyra shouted, her voice ringing through the chamber. She clenched Eryon’s hand tighter, her silver eyes blazing with determination despite her tears. “Save him.”
Misery swallowed hard, her resolve firming as she moved to prepare. Isla turned away, her shoulders trembling, while Draven glared daggers at Seraphine, his fury barely contained.
As Misery leaned over Eryon, her fangs extending, Lyra pressed her forehead against her brother’s, her voice a soft, trembling whisper. “Come back to me, Eryon. Please. Come back.”