A low roar resonates in my chest as power courses through me, rising like a storm tide ready to devour everything in its path. Each second I spend locked in this madness makes the corruption feel more natural, and my old magic—once buried under centuries of lost memories—surges back in dizzying waves. The Blind Citadel stands shattered around us, half its structures now mere rubble. Kael remains across the debris-strewn courtyard, flanked by a handful of his loyal followers—the last stubborn defenders against my void-fueled wrath.

  I snarl at them, the sound ragged and choked with darkness. “YOU’RE ALL JUST HIS HOUNDS—MINIONS OF THAT MONSTER!” I thrust a clawed hand in Kael’s direction, and his allies exchange determined glances before launching themselves at me. Their throats strain in unified shouts—anger, desperation, betrayal. Traitor! Murderer! The words sting like embers, but I bury my guilt beneath the call of savage exhilaration.

  With a guttural roar, I raise my corrupted arm and conjure a seething orb of void energy. It shivers with the promise of obliteration, expanding as I pour my fury into it. Then I hurl it with all my might. It detonates mid-air in a searing flash, shockwaves clawing at the sky itself. In that brief instant, the entire world seems to invert—colors morphing into burning negative silhouettes, thunder peeling as though the heavens are splitting open.

  When the flare dims, the only figures left standing in the churned ruins are Kael and me. He hasn’t moved an inch, cloak tattered, face smeared with ash. Beyond him lie the broken remains of those who fought at his side. My pulse pounds with an intoxicating blend of triumph and dread. Blood trickles down my brow, yet I hardly notice. This power has become my lifeline, and I cling to it with both hands.

  “Surrender,” I snarl, voice echoing with a hollow resonance. “And maybe I’ll grant you a quick death.”

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  Kael wipes soot from his lip, lifts his head, and gives me a rueful smile. “We’re both going down,” he says softly, as if resigned. Then he raises his arms above his head, and an immense spell circle ignites against the sky—a structure of shifting lines so massive, I can’t make out its edge even with my enhanced sight. My heart clenches as dread coils in my stomach.

  “Bye, Eldrin…” he murmurs, meeting my gaze with equal parts sorrow and resolve. The circle flares, its brilliance outshining everything else. It collapses downward in a cataclysmic blast of white light.

  I react on instinct, crossing my arms to shield myself behind a last-second surge of dark magic. The brilliance slams into me like a comet, and my vision bleeds into pure, scorching radiance. All sound vanishes—no screams, no crumbling stone, no howling wind. Just a white void that engulfs everything.

  Then, through that blinding expanse, familiar faces flicker into focus. Lyra. Her hair drifts around her like a soft halo, her eyes gentle yet piercing. Right beside her appear countless others: dear companions, friends from an age before the world fell apart. They smile, welcoming me into a realm of warm memories. The sight tears at my heart, stealing my breath. This is who we were. Our laughter, our hopes—they wash over me in a kaleidoscope of recollection. I see Kael too, younger and unscarred by Void Glass, brimming with optimism.

  The realization of what I’ve become crushes me. My thirst for power, my anger, my rampage—it didn’t have to unfold this way. A deep lament surges in my chest, threatening to consume me. I open my mouth to speak, but no words form. I’m sorry…

  Then a new chill kindles in the pit of my stomach—an iciness so absolute it burns. The friendly faces waver, their smiles dissolving into mist. I stretch out a hand, trying to cling to them, but the blackness returns in force, crawling up my limbs like living night. My eyelids grow heavy, my sight narrowing into a tunnel of inky gloom. The swirling hush of that final memory recedes into nothing.

  In the distance, I still feel my power—colossal, near-infinite. But it’s no longer warm and exhilarating. It’s cold as a grave. All goes black, swallowing every last glimmer of light.