They fought like demons unleashed, claws rending flesh, fangs bared in primal fury. But Vasilios wasn't here to win.
He was here to break.
"She begged for you at the end," he hissed as Riven pinned him. "Funny. Lysara always said you were cold. But the way she cried your name? Sounded pretty heated to"
Riven's fangs tore out his throat.
Blood arced through the air
And the world shifted.
The moment Vasilios' blood hit the earth, the courtyard warped.
Shadows coiled like living things. The very air trembled. And then
She appeared.
Lysara.
Not a memory. Not a ghost.
A revelation.
Her spirit shimmered in the moonlight, her silver hair whipping in an unfelt wind, her eyes—oh gods, her eyes—locked on Riven with devastating sorrow.
"You lied to me," she whispered.
Riven fell to his knees. "I had to."
The truth spilled like a gut wound.
Vasilios hadn't killed Lysara.
Riven had.
