Elena didn't know how long she'd been drifting.
Minutes. Hours. Days. A lifetime.
Her chest ached with every breath, her ribs screaming each time she shifted. Her head throbbed relentlessly, the concussion tugging her back toward unconsciousness.
Then—A sound.
Distant. Muffled. Wrong.
A low boom shook the stones beneath her.
Then another. And shouting. Then—screams.
The fortress trembled like something enormous had struck it.
Elena jerked upright, biting back a cry when pain tore through her ribs.
Boots pounded down the corridor.
Her captor skidded into view, breathless, wild-eyed.
Not mocking now. Not smug. Panicked.
He fumbled for the cell keys with shaking hands.
"What—what is happening?" Elena rasped.
He didn't answer.
He lunged at her instead, grabbing the chain at her wrists and yanking hard, pulling her toward him so violently she cried out. Pain detonated across her chest.
He hauled her up by the chain, metal biting into her skin.
"We're leaving," he snarled. "Now."
She clawed backward, uselessly—the chain digging deep, tearing her already bruised wrists.
"Let me go!" she yelled, voice cracking with pain.
He jerked her again, harder.
White–hot agony shot up her arms and across her ribs. She cried out, the sound ripped from her throat before she could stop it.
"Move—" he snarled.
Then he froze.
The torchlight dimmed.
The corridor darkened—not like nightfall, but like something living had smothered the flame.
A shadow stretched across the floor. No, not a shadow. A presence.
Footsteps followed. Slow. Heavy. Inevitable. Her captor dropped the chain.
He spun toward the doorway, hand flying to his sword.
Too late.
A dark figure stepped into the corridor, black armor splattered with snow and blood, eyes burning like something carved from the heart of a storm.
Soren.
But not the Soren she knew.
No amused edge. No controlled menace.
This was something older. Darker. Unrestrained.
This was war.
"P—Prince Soren—" her captor stammered.
Soren didn't speak. He moved. Fast.
His fist connected with the man's jaw so brutally the crack echoed off the stone walls. The commander flew backward, slamming into the bars of another cell with a sickening thud. He tried to stand—
Soren hit him again. And again. And again.
Each strike landed with sickening force—bone, flesh, metal, all cracking beneath his fists. Blood sprayed across the stone wall in violent arcs.
Elena squeezed her eyes shut, turning her face away. She couldn't watch—not the blood, not the way Soren moved, not the raw, feral violence unraveling in front of her. Her stomach twisted; her vision swam.
"Soren," she whispered, voice barely a breath. "Soren, stop—"
He didn't hear her.
Or couldn't.
Or wouldn't.
He struck the man again, knuckles slick with blood, chest heaving, shadows clinging to him like something alive. The prisoner sagged, barely conscious, but Soren's fury didn't slow—if anything, it sharpened.
"Soren," she tried again, louder, choking on the tremor in her voice. "Please—"
Nothing.
He was gone—lost somewhere she couldn't reach, rage burning through him like a second heartbeat.
Soren's fist drew back for another blow—but something in Elena's broken whisper finally cut through the haze.
"Soren… please…"
His arm stopped mid-air.
The prisoner slumped in his grip, blood dripping onto the stone.
Slowly—mechanically—Soren straightened. His breath tore out of him in violent, ragged pulls. For a moment, he didn't seem to know where he was. Or who he was.
Then his gaze lifted.
Found her.
Elena flinched.
Not because he moved—he hadn't—but because of the look in his eyes:a storm, a wound, a man teetering on the edge of something dark enough to swallow them both.
He saw it.He saw her reaction.
And everything in him stopped.
"Elena," he said—hoarse, wrecked. He took one step toward her.
She instinctively drew back, the chains rattling sharply.
He froze.
His throat worked, as though swallowing glass. "…I scared you."
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her ribs screamed with every breath and her vision blurred around the edges.
But she didn't deny it.
Soren exhaled once—shaky, controlled only by sheer force of will—and lowered himself to a crouch, hands lifted slightly away from her body, palms open.
"Let me… see the chains," he said quietly. "Please."
Her wrists throbbed, blood crusted around the metal cuffs. Her hands trembled as she offered them forward—hesitant, fragile.
Soren's jaw tightened at the sight. Not with anger toward her—but with something protective, murderous, barely contained.
He broke the locks with his bare hands. The metal snapped like brittle bone.
"Elena," he whispered again, voice cracking, "I'm here. You're safe."
She collapsed forward—but not from fear. Her legs simply wouldn't hold her.
Soren caught her before she hit the ground.
His arms slid around her—iron gentle, devastatingly careful—as though he were terrified she might break under his touch.
She let out a soft cry when the movement pulled at her ribs.
He stilled immediately. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," she breathed, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "But—I don't care. You came. You came."
His grip tightened around her.
"I would cross a thousand borders for you," he said, voice low against her hair. "There was no world where I didn't come."
She buried her face against his shoulder, dizzy with pain and relief.
He rose to his feet with her cradled in his arms—effortless, unshakable.
As he carried her through the fortress corridors, bodies lay where his Sentinels had passed—unmoving, scattered like fallen shadows.
Elena couldn't look for long. She didn't want to understand the kind of power it took for nine men to do this.
She clung to him instead, fingers gripping his armor weakly.
"You came," she whispered again, barely conscious.
"Yes," he murmured, voice breaking against her temple. "And I will always come."