The Silence After the Storm
Zyra's eyes snapped open. For a moment, she couldn't move. Everything was wrong,
The air was thick with the acrid scent of scorched earth. The battlefield—the place where the rift had torn reality apart—was now eerily silent. The sky, once ablaze with unnatural light, had returned to its dark, star-dusted expanse.
But Kieran was gone.
Panic surged through her chest. She pushed herself up, her limbs screaming in protest. The raw magic that had surged through her body now left her drained, her veins aching with emptiness.
She turned in frantic circles, searching the desolate field for any sign of him. Her heart pounded in her ribs, her pulse erratic.
Then—she saw him.
No. Not Kieran.
Someone else.
A lone figure stood at the edge of the battlefield, illuminated by the faint, flickering embers of dying fire.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his posture too still. His hair, ink-black, moved slightly in the faint wind. His clothing was simple, but his presence was anything but.
And when he turned—his eyes glowed gold.
Zyra's breath caught. Not human. Not Kieran.
But something ancient.
Something dangerous.
---
A New Threat
Zyra clenched her fists, forcing her exhausted body into a defensive stance. "Who are you?"
The man took a slow step forward, his movements precise, deliberate. His golden eyes burned like molten fire.
"An interesting question," he mused. His voice was deep, almost amused, but laced with something else. Something darker.
Zyra's magic flickered weakly at her fingertips. "Where is Kieran?"
The man tilted his head, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. "Gone."
Her stomach dropped.
"What do you mean, gone?" Her voice cracked, anger bubbling beneath her fear.
The man took another step forward, and the temperature around her seemed to drop.
"The rift did not just close," he said. "It claimed him."
No.
No, that wasn't possible.
She staggered back, her chest tight, her mind racing. The last thing she remembered was Kieran's hand gripping hers, their power merging, the explosion of light—
And then—nothing.
The golden-eyed stranger watched her reaction carefully, as if measuring her.
"You are connected to him," he observed.
She swallowed hard. "I don't need you to tell me that."
A slow, knowing smirk crossed his face. "Then you already understand what this means."
Zyra shook her head, refusing to accept it. Kieran was not dead.
He couldn't be.
"If the rift took him," she said, her voice sharper now, "then I'll get him back."
The man chuckled, the sound too smooth, too controlled. "Bold. But foolish."
She glared at him. "If you're not here to help me, then get out of my way."
His smirk widened. "Oh, I will help you."
The wind howled around them, the embers dimming.
"But first, you must understand the cost."
---