The last fragments of light faded from the sky, leaving the mountaintop stripped bare.
No mirrors.
No glow.
Just wind.
It rushed across the stone like a living thing, cold and sharp, threading through torn cloaks and open wounds, whispering where voices had been moments before. The silence that followed felt wrong—too full, too heavy, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
Then came the whistle.
It cut through the night in a thin, cruel arc, sharp enough to raise the hair on Tomora's arms before his mind caught up. His head snapped up just as the sky above them darkened.
Not clouds.
People.
Hundreds of figures poured down from the heavens, armor swallowing the moonlight, shields locked tight, weapons gleaming with a dull, merciless sheen. They descended in perfect formation, like a storm that had learned how to think.
Black Iron.
The air vibrated with the sound of their arrival—metal scraping, fabric snapping, boots striking stone. The mountain shook beneath their weight.
"They're everywhere!" Yora's scream tore free from her chest, panic raw and unfiltered.
Tomora spun, heart slamming against his ribs. Everywhere he looked, they were landing—on ridges, on outcroppings, pouring down paths they hadn't known existed seconds ago. There was no escape route. No warning. No mercy in the way they moved.
Tala stood frozen, fingers curled uselessly at her sides. Her breath came in short, broken gasps, eyes wide as if her body refused to accept what it was seeing.
"What do we do?" she whispered, her voice barely surviving the wind.
Ishimo said nothing.
He stood apart from them, still as carved stone, white hair stirring faintly as his gaze tracked the descending forces. No shock crossed his face. No fear. Only calculation—cold, distant, unreadable.
Then the first arrow flew.
It hissed past Tomora's ear and buried itself in the stone behind him with a brutal crack. Another followed. Then dozens. The sky turned deadly, streaked with black lines that screamed as they fell.
Steel met steel.
The mountaintop exploded into chaos.
Patricia moved before Tomora could shout her name. She slipped between incoming blows with fluid precision, her blade singing as it cut through the air. Every strike was clean. Controlled. Beautiful in a way only someone fighting for others could manage.
An enemy fell at her feet. Another lunged—and she turned, spinning, her movements a blend of instinct and grace. Sparks burst as weapons clashed. Blood sprayed warm against cold air.
She didn't hesitate. Didn't falter.
Until she did.
The arrow came from nowhere.
There was no warning cry. No glint of metal in the corner of the eye. Just a sudden, sickening thud—dull and final—as it struck her chest.
Time fractured.
Patricia's hand flew up instinctively, fingers pressing against the place just below her collarbone. For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then red bloomed between her fingers.
Her eyes widened—not in fear, but in surprise, as if her body hadn't informed her yet that it was dying.
"Patricia!" Tomora's scream ripped out of him, raw enough to tear his throat.
He was moving before he realized it, stumbling, slipping on stone slick with blood and rain and ash. He caught her just as her knees buckled, the force of her weight nearly knocking him down with her.
She felt lighter than she should have.
Too light.
Tomora cradled her face with shaking hands, thumbs brushing streaks of dirt and sweat from her cheeks as if that alone could fix this. Her skin was already cooling.
"No—no, stay with me," he gasped, words tumbling over each other. "Please—Patricia—look at me."
Her lips curved upward, just barely.
"Tomora…" Her voice was thin, fragile, like it might snap if she used it again. "I'm… sorry."
Blood bubbled at the corner of her mouth when she breathed.
"I wanted to protect you all," she whispered. "Sorry the people… don't believe you…"
His vision blurred. He shook his head hard, as if denying her words could deny reality.
"Don't," he choked. "Don't apologize."
Her eyes softened, drifting—not to the sky, but to him.
"And mostly…" Her breath shuddered. "I never told you this… sorry for… for letting your parents die…"
The words struck deeper than the arrow ever could.
Tears spilled freely now, streaking down Tomora's face, dripping onto her blood-soaked armor. He pressed his forehead to hers, voice breaking under the weight he could no longer carry.
"Why… why are you apologizing?" His smile trembled, forced and fragile, cracking under the strain. "I will always pick your side."
Her fingers lifted weakly, brushing his cheek like she was memorizing it.
"Don't… stop… fighting," she murmured.
Then, softer—so soft he almost missed it—
"I love you."
The world collapsed.
Tomora's breath hitched violently as the words sank in, settling somewhere deep and irreversible. He had felt it too—every quiet moment, every shared glance, every unspoken promise hanging between them.
He never got to say it first.
Her grip slackened.
Her eyes fluttered once… twice… then closed.
The sound that left Tomora wasn't a scream. It was worse. It was empty. Hollow. Like something essential had been torn out of him.
Around them, the battle raged on.
Steel clashed. People screamed. Someone fell nearby with a wet thud. But none of it mattered. The world had narrowed to the body in his arms and the silence she left behind.
He lowered her carefully, reverently, laying her on the cold stone as if afraid the ground might hurt her too. His hands lingered, unwilling to let go.
"Please… rest in peace," he whispered, voice barely audible. "You've earned a well rest…"
His lips trembled.
"I love you too."
Then he went still.
Nearby, Tala stood frozen, tears streaming unchecked down her face, her body refusing to obey her will. Yora fought on with ragged desperation, glancing back again and again, terror etched into every movement.
Ishimo didn't move.
His gaze remained fixed on Patricia's fallen form. His expression revealed nothing—but something in the air around him felt heavier, colder, like the calm before a greater storm.
Tomora remained kneeling, head bowed, shoulders shaking as silent sobs tore through him.
The mountain shook with battle.
But hope—
Hope lay broken on the stone beside him.