A tremor travels through my staff as I slam its base against the coarse, glittering ground. My heart thrums in my ears, but I lift my voice to meet the strange woman’s gaze. The memory of her decaying, skeletal form is still fresh in my mind, even though she now stands before me in flawless beauty.

  “Say your name, witch,” I demand, forcing the words through a throat parched by days of wandering. “Neither your illusions nor your sweet words will trick me. Speak the truth!”

  I can hear the hoarseness in my own voice, can feel the dull ache in my arm where the sigil struggles to contain the corruption. But I push the pain aside. Summoning the last of my strength, I channel a surge of energy into the staff. A sharp, violet glow crackles along its thorny ridges. The air between us vibrates, and for an instant, reality itself seems to distort around her.

  She flinches, lips parting in shock as her pristine face flickers—revealing the rotted husk beneath. Her cheeks and nose melt away in a vision of raw decay, her jaw unhinged by necrotic sinew. She recoils in horror, if only for a heartbeat. Then she regains control, and her beautiful fa?ade snaps back into place, perfect as polished glass. Even so, fear briefly taints her expression.

  She steps forward again, chin lifted. “I’m not someone worthy of having a name,” she says quietly, her gentle tones contrasting her earlier snarl. Her voice rings with a sad resignation. “You destroyed everything when you betrayed Kael. And I’m no match for you, even if you are only a shadow of your former self. That is the truth.”

  Something in her eyes—those luminous, too-perfect irises—seems to pull at me, stirring up half-forgotten memories of another life, another time. I can almost feel an urge to lower my staff, to accept her words. My heart pounds harder, confusion coursing through me.

  Before I can respond, another presence erupts into being. The Silver Eye Pendant against my chest burns cold, and a swirl of argent light materializes at my side, coalescing into Lyra’s familiar shape. She stands between us, incorporeal yet fiercely protective, her silver robes swirling in a wind I cannot feel.

  “Don’t listen to her, Eldrin,” Lyra’s voice rings out. There’s a thread of desperation woven through her usual calm. “She only spills lies. They were the ones who betrayed us, not the other way around.”

  A jolt of pain sears through my skull. It feels like I’ve been struck by a lightning bolt of raw energy, the backlash of my own magic rising to punish me. My vision spins, colors and shapes melding in the corners of my sight. I grip the staff tighter, but my fingers feel numb. My knees threaten to buckle.

  Lyra’s image flickers as the exhausted sigil on my arm dims further. I sense the corruption battling against its weakened ward, trying to break free. Sweat beads on my forehead. If I keep pushing my magic like this, the ward will fail. And if it fails…

  I fight to keep my footing on the sharp, glass-strewn earth. Each breath rasps in my chest, every inhalation accompanied by the smell of scorched ozone and ancient dust. Lyra throws a sharp look over her shoulder at me, her eyes clouded with worry. The woman in front of us merely smiles, her poise unbroken.

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  “That’s enough,” she says softly, voice still bearing that magnetic allure. She steps closer—too close—and I catch a hint of perfumed air that smells out of place in these wastes. Her slender fingers hover near my staff as if tempted to brush it aside. “You look tired, Eldrin. So much weight upon those lovely shoulders… Why fight it? Why suffer when surrender could feel so exquisite? Kael has no desire to see you suffer. Join him again—help him finish what you both started.”

  Lyra’s spectral form solidifies for a moment, intercepting the woman’s hand before it can touch me. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses, her normally serene features twisted in anger. The two exchange a look that bristles with old history.

  For a heartbeat, none of us move. The hush of the Glass Wastes settles in—a swirl of pale dust drifting past, the jagged spires behind us catching what little light remains. My staff glows faintly, but I feel my strength slipping away, my head spinning from the strain. The robed woman tilts her head, observing my weakness with an unsettling calm.

  I want to speak, but my tongue feels heavy in my mouth, each word lodged behind my teeth. My chest tightens as the corruption surges in my arm—hungry, persistent. Lyra’s voice resonates in my mind, urging me to focus, but I can barely hold on to coherent thought.

  “She’s right about one thing, Eldrin,” the woman murmurs. “You’re only a fraction of who you once were. You need not continue like this.”

  My staff trembles as I wrestle with the dark presence clawing at the edges of my mind, beckoning me to unleash it. I force my gaze upward, ignoring the swirl of nausea and the dull, pulsing agony in my temples. Lyra’s spirit stands guard beside me, and I cling to that small comfort.

  “In the end…” I manage, swallowing hard to steady my voice, “I’d rather die free than live under Kael’s dominion.”

  It costs me more energy than I have left, those few words. My legs wobble, and I half-collapse against a jagged rock protruding from the ground. Pain lances my side, though it’s a distant ache compared to the war raging inside my veins. The woman watches me with eyes full of feigned pity.

  Lyra lays a ghostly hand on my shoulder. “We can’t stay,” she whispers urgently. “Let me shield you, Eldrin—just enough to get us out of here.” Her voice falters as her form flickers. I know what that means: she’s tapping the last remnants of her strength to protect me, and I can’t afford to lose her again.

  Swaying on my feet, I watch the woman’s perfect lips curve into a soft smile. “Go then,” she offers, stepping aside with a gracious sweep of her arm, as though she holds no ill intent. “But remember this moment. Kael isn’t as cruel as you claim. Once, you two dreamed of mending this broken world… together.”

  Her words land like a dagger in my chest, stirring memories I can’t fully grasp. I grit my teeth, pushing myself upright. Lyra’s glow envelopes me in a silvery shimmer, and I feel my consciousness slip as we attempt to escape. My last glimpse is of the woman standing there, impossibly serene, her hair drifting in the ash-laden wind like a banner of victory.

  Darkness crowds my vision, and I collapse into Lyra’s embrace, the staff falling from my grip. My ward flickers ominously, the black veins beneath it raging for release. Even as I lose myself to this haze, I sense one final whisper—whether from Lyra or the corruption itself, I can’t tell.

  Stay awake… or you’ll never wake at all.