The fire from the vision still burned in Emberlynn's chest.
Even now, cradled in Malphas' arms, her breath ragged and her heart unsteady, she could feel the echo of that throne. The weight of that crown. And his lips brushing her ear, whispering things she didn't want to want.
She pulled away.
"I saw it," she murmured. "The other me. The queen."
Malphas's jaw tightened. "You weren't supposed to see that yet."
"Yet?" she snapped. "So there is a plan? A timeline for when I'm supposed to… what? Rule Hell?"
"No," he said, but too quickly.
She stepped back.
"No," he repeated, softer now. "Not rule. Not you."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then who?"
He hesitated.
And that silence was her answer.
"You don't want me to become her," she whispered. "You need me to."
Malphas looked away.
Lightning cracked in the distant sky. The trees bowed under invisible pressure, and a shudder rolled through the ground beneath their feet.
"I need you to survive," he said finally. "Because if you die before the seal breaks, everything burns. Heaven, Hell—this world, yours. The Paragon Key can't be reforged."
"And what if I survive and become that thing in the mist?" Her voice wavered. "What if I like it?"
He looked at her then, something raw flickering in his expression.
"Then I'll stop you."
They moved on before dawn.
The terrain grew crueler, warped by demonic rot. Trees bled sap the color of ink. Rivers hissed with smoke. Emberlynn wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ignore the cold curling beneath her skin.
"How far to the Rift?" she asked.
"Two days."
"And after that?"
"After that, we begin the ritual."
She paused. "Ritual?"
Malphas didn't look back. "You'll see."
That night, they camped beneath the shadow of an old ruin—what was once a cathedral, now split in half and bleeding stars from its cracked stained glass. Emberlynn sat alone by the fire, poking the embers, while Malphas stood at the edge of the light.
Watching the woods.
"Something's following us," she said without looking.
"Yes."
She blinked. "You're not going to deny it?"
"No point," he said. "It wants you."
Her stomach twisted.
"What is it?"
He didn't answer right away.
Finally: "A Taker."
She turned to him, alarmed. "A soul eater?"
"Worse. It doesn't want your soul. It wants your flame."
Emberlynn touched her shoulder where the mark pulsed under her skin.
"Then we should run."
"No," Malphas said, eyes narrowing. "We make a stand."
The attack came an hour later.
Silent as shadow, fast as thought.
The Taker was a creature wrapped in smoke and torn veils, with a face like a shattered mask and claws that shimmered like glass. It lunged from the trees with a scream that shattered the firelight.
Malphas met it mid-air.
Steel clashed with shadow. Magic sparked from his fingers like wildfire, but the Taker twisted around him, lashing out toward Emberlynn.
She raised her hand to shield herself—and the mark ignited.
Not red. Not gold.
But violet.
A burst of power exploded from her palm, slamming the Taker back into the ruins. It shrieked, convulsing, and tried to crawl away.
Malphas didn't let it.
With one strike of his blade, the thing dissolved into ash.
Then silence.
Only the sound of Emberlynn's breathing filled the air.
"What was that?" she asked, staring at her glowing palm.
Malphas stared too.
"That," he said slowly, "was power no Paragon has ever shown."
She blinked. "But I thought—"
He stepped toward her, eyes wide, almost afraid. "You're not just the key."
She shook her head. "Then what am I?"
He looked at her like she wasn't a girl anymore.
"You're the door, Emberlynn."
And maybe the lock.
And maybe…
…the end.