The dead were still being counted when Maerwyn summoned them to the scrying chamber again.
The cavern looked smaller now. Half the glowing vines had been torn down; scorch marks crawled up the walls like black and wet scars. The pool itself was untouched, its surface black glass once more, but the air around it tasted of iron and grief.
Maerwyn sat on the same bone stool. Only two rangers remained at her back now; the rest were carrying bodies or standing guard above.
"Sit," the seer said.
There was nowhere to sit. Kazeal stayed standing behind Lira, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Seraphin leaned against the wall, arms folded, violet eyes unreadable.
Maerwyn wasted no time.
"You burned a wraith-captain to nothing," she told Lira. "That has not happened since the God-Wars. The Shadow Empire felt it. Every sleeper in every court just woke up sweating. Valthor knows exactly where you are."
Lira's stomach lurched. "Then we leave. Tonight."
"You will," Maerwyn agreed. "But first you pay the price."
She reached beneath her furs and drew out a small obsidian knife. The blade drank the light.
"Divine fire is not free," the seer said. "Every time you call it, it drinks a year of your mortal span. The brighter the flame, the faster you burn. Your mother learned that lesson the night she tore her own heart out to hide you."
Lira's throat closed.
Maerwyn held out the knife, handle first.
"There is a bargain that can slow the debt. A tether. One life willingly bound to yours. Their years become kindling for your fire. When you live longer, they burn faster. When they die, the debt is paid in full."
Silence rang like a struck bell.
Kazeal's fingers tightened on Lira's shoulder. "No."
Maerwyn ignored him. "The tether must be sealed in blood and seed. Old magic. Older than words."
Seraphin's eyebrows rose. "You want one of us to fuck her to death for her? Romantic."
Maerwyn's blind gaze fixed on her. "I want her to choose who she is willing to kill slowly so the world can live."
Lira felt the room tilt.
Kazeal stepped forward, voice low and furious. "There has to be another way."
"There isn't," Maerwyn said simply. "I have looked. The pool has looked. This is the only path where the Flame does not consume her before the final Shard is claimed."
Lira stared at the black knife. Her hand rose without permission and closed around the hilt. The obsidian was warm, almost alive.
Images flashed behind her eyes: Kazeal aging overnight, hair silvering, skin thinning, dying in her arms decades too soon. Seraphin wasting away, violet eyes dimming. Either of them—or both. Gods forbid, both.
She dropped the knife like it burned.
"I won't," she whispered. "I won't trade one life for another."
Maerwyn's expression did not change. "Then you will be ash before winter. And the world with you."
Kazeal's hand slid from her shoulder to her neck, thumb stroking the frantic pulse at her throat. "There's time," he said quietly. "We'll find another way."
Seraphin pushed off the wall. "Or we cheat. There's always a loophole if you're clever enough."
Maerwyn actually smiled at that. "Perhaps. But loopholes cost more than bargains."
She rose, joints creaking.
"Take tonight," she told them. "Mourn. Heal. Decide. At dawn I will ask again. If the answer is still no, I will give you horses and supplies and wish you luck. The Hollow cannot hide you longer than that."
She turned away—dismissed.
They left the chamber in silence.
The terrace outside was quieter now. Fires had been put out; bodies wrapped in cloaks and carried to the deep crevices for sky-burial. A few survivors moved like ghosts among the ruins.
Kazeal led Lira to the small chamber they'd been given. Seraphin followed without being asked.
Inside, the brazier still burned low. No one spoke.
Lira sat on the edge of the cot, hands between her knees, staring at nothing.
Kazeal knelt in front of her. "Look at me."
She did. His face was streaked with soot and someone else's blood, but his eyes were steady.
"I have maybe two hundred years left," he said. "If giving you fifty of them keeps you breathing, I'll do it in a heartbeat. Don't you dare feel guilty."
Seraphin dropped to sit cross-legged beside them, unusually serious.
"Elves live longer than humans," she said. "I've got three centuries of mischief left. I can spare a hundred without noticing."
Lira laughed, or maybe sobbed. "You're both insane."
"Probably," Seraphin agreed. "But we're your insane."
Kazeal reached up and tucked a strand of singed hair behind Lira's ear. His fingers lingered.
"We don't decide tonight," he said. "Tonight we just… stay alive. Together."
Seraphin leaned in until her shoulder brushed Lira's other side. "Together," she echoed.
Lira looked from one to the other—silver hair and violet eyes, exile and thief—both watching her like she was the only star left in their sky.
She drew a shaky breath."Then stay," she whispered.
Kazeal's hand slid to the nape of her neck. Seraphin's fingers found her wrist, tracing the vein that still glowed faintly under the skin.
No one moved to kiss yet. No one needed to. The air itself felt suddenly too small, too warm, humming with promise and grief and the knowledge that tomorrow might demand everything.
Outside, the Hollow mourned its dead.
Inside the tiny, smoke-scented chamber, three heartbeats slowly found the same rhythm.
Whatever dawn brought, they would meet it tangled together.