The Final Stand
The portal sealed with a deafening crack, its otherworldly energy dissipating into the charged air of the chamber. For a brief moment, silence reigned, the echoes of chaos fading into stillness. The King stood motionless, his crimson eyes blazing with fury as the remaining knights regrouped behind him, their weapons at the ready.
The tension in the room was suffocating, every breath heavy with the weight of failure.
“You let them escape,” the King growled, his voice low and menacing, his gaze snapping to Misery.
Misery sheathed her blade with deliberate calm, her expression unfazed by the accusation. “They won’t get far,” she said simply, her tone sharp yet measured.
Adrian staggered to his feet, his body aching, his breathing labored. His mind raced, replaying the image of Lyra vanishing into the portal, the artifact’s glow still pulsing in her hands. His jaw tightened, anger and despair battling for dominance as he turned to face the King.
“You’re the one who pushed them to this,” Adrian said, his voice trembling with barely contained fury.
The King’s gaze shifted to him, cold and calculating, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “And you’re the one who failed to stop them,” he said, his tone cutting like a blade.
Misery stepped forward, her eyes flicking between Adrian and the King as though assessing the tension. “This isn’t over,” she said sharply. “The artifact will corrupt them, just as it’s corrupted everyone who’s touched it. They’ll destroy themselves long before we reach them.”
Adrian’s heart sank at her words, each one striking like a hammer. His mind filled with images of Lyra—her silver eyes burning with fear and determination, her hands trembling as she clutched the artifact. The memory of her disappearing into the portal was a fresh wound, her absence a gnawing ache.
“Wherever they’ve gone,” the King said, his voice cold and unyielding, “we will find them. And when we do, there will be no escape.”
Adrian clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as he struggled to hold back the surge of emotion threatening to spill over. The guilt, the rage, the helplessness—they threatened to drown him.
Misery turned to the King, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Let them run,” she said, her tone laced with a twisted amusement. “It will make their fall all the more satisfying.”
The King gave a curt nod, his towering presence casting a long shadow over the room. At his command, the knights began to withdraw, their heavy footsteps echoing in the cavernous chamber as they marched back into the darkness.
Adrian remained where he stood, his gaze fixed on the place where the portal had been. The air still vibrated faintly with the remnants of its energy, a mocking reminder of his failure.
As the last of the King’s forces disappeared into the shadows, Adrian whispered under his breath, his voice a quiet vow to himself, “I’ll find her before you do.”
His crimson eyes flickered, not with the fury that burned in the King’s gaze, but with a spark of resolve. Whatever it took, wherever she had gone, he would reach her first. Because if the artifact was truly corrupting her, then saving Lyra wasn’t just a mission—it was the only thing that mattered.
