The shot echoed like a thunderclap across the clearing.
The executioner stumbled back, blood blossoming from his shoulder as the blade slipped from his grasp and struck the wooden platform with a hollow clang.
For one suspended heartbeat, the world held still.
And then—chaos.
"Go!" Aqua's voice rang out through the treeline.
From the brush, she surged forward in a blur of blue, her Tidal Scepter drawn and glowing. Skuld shot from her flank in a burst of wind, her Zephyr Talons gleaming silver in the rising sun.
Their goal had been clean—swift. Disable the guards. Free John. Avoid bloodshed.
But the shot had changed everything.
"Protect the Chief!" a warrior bellowed.
Screams erupted as Powhatan's warriors raised their weapons, thinking the shot had come from the treeline. And behind them, like the rising tide of war, the settlers charged.
Ratcliffe, at the head of the line, grinned beneath his polished helm. The spark he'd waited for—lit.
"Strike them down!" he roared. "Let none survive!"
Steel clashed against wood as the settlers smashed into the outer edge of the village. Muskets cracked. Arrows flew. Smoke and screams mingled with the dawn.
Skuld spun through the confusion, her claws deflecting a spear aimed for John. "Get him free!"
"I'm trying!" Aqua snapped, slamming the butt of her staff into a warrior's stomach before freezing the chains around John's wrists. With a sharp twist, the frost shattered them.
John fell forward with a grunt, blood still crusted on his lip. "You picked a hell of a time," he rasped.
Aqua hauled him up. "It was supposed to be quieter."
Pocahontas pushed through the chaos, her voice cutting above the din. "STOP!"
But neither side heard.
The Powhatan warriors fought with righteous fury, convinced they had been betrayed. The settlers fought with blind hatred, following their governor's orders like zealots.
Pocahontas threw herself between the two forces, arms raised. "Please! You don't have to do this! They're not your enemies! Stop fighting!"
Some hesitated. A few warriors lowered their spears, their eyes flicking toward her.
But not Ratcliffe.
Atop his horse, he spotted Powhatan standing behind Pocahontas, commanding warriors from the rear. His face twisted with triumph and malice.
"There's the root of it all," he snarled.
He raised his musket.
"No!" John's voice broke from the platform.
The shot rang out.
John lunged.
The bullet slammed into his chest.
The world stopped again.
John staggered back, a look of stunned disbelief crossing his face before he collapsed beside the execution block.
"JOHN!" Pocahontas screamed, catching him as he fell. His blood soaked into the earth, into her hands, into her heart.
Powhatan stood frozen, the musket smoke still curling in front of him, the words Ratcliffe had shouted seconds earlier still hanging in the air.
Ratcliffe saw the hesitation.
"He shot him!" Ratcliffe shouted, pointing to Powhatan with theatrical rage. "The native chief shot your friend!"
But the settlers… paused.
They'd seen John leap in front of the bullet.
They'd seen Ratcliffe fire it.
Even the most indoctrinated among them faltered, their grips on their weapons wavering.
One man, gun trembling, called out, "Governor… was it really you?"
Ratcliffe's eyes widened. "You dare question me? He was a traitor! He chose them over us!"
Then, he snarled.
"Fine. If you won't fight for me—they will."
He raised his hand, darkness gathering like smoke around his palm.
"Come to me. Feed. Obey!"
The air split open.
Dark portals erupted across the battlefield. Heartless poured out—shadows, Nightfangs, twisted forms cloaked in smoke and hunger. They struck indiscriminately—soldiers, villagers, warriors alike.
The settlers screamed.
The Powhatan fled.
Even the bravest warriors were forced back as the black tide swept through the clearing.
Helios, hidden high in the trees, narrowed his eyes. "So the fool made his move after all…"
But his gaze drifted to Pocahontas—still knelt beside John.
"Come on, stay with me," she whispered, brushing his hair back with trembling fingers. "Please, you can't leave me like this."
John coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. "This was… not the quiet ending I had in mind."
She laughed once, choking on a sob.
And then—light.
A soft, radiant glow burst from her chest, flooding outward. Her necklace pulsed. The wind lifted around her, cradling them in a halo of energy.
Aqua, even as she fought, turned her head. Her eyes widened. "Pocahontas…"
"She's awakened it," Skuld murmured. "The light of a Princess of Heart…"
The light swept over John, knitting flesh and sealing wounds. His body arched as golden energy surged through him, then fell still—breathing, alive.
And from the trees, the Heartless screamed.
The light burned them where they stood. Shadows evaporated. The dark tide recoiled.
Ratcliffe watched in horror.
"No," he hissed. "No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go—you're mine!"
He raised his pistol, aimed for her back.
BANG.
The shot struck her just beneath the shoulder blade.
She gasped—staggered forward—and collapsed over John.
"POCAHONTAS!" Aqua screamed, rushing toward her as the glow began to flicker.
The battlefield froze again—but not with awe this time.
With horror.
John looked up, dazed, his hands covered in her blood. He held tight yelling an endless streams of no, but nothing could be done as she bled more and more.
She blinked slowly, eyes full of sorrow, but also peace.
"...you're safe," she whispered.
And the light… went out.