The night air in the foothills of the Crystal Mountains was biting, but the silver mark on my wrist pulsed with a strange warmth. Every time Lyria took a breath, I felt it in my own chest. It was a strange, intimate sensation—one I was still trying to get used to.
"We should rest here," I said, pointing toward a small cave hidden behind a cluster of frozen pines.
Lyria nodded silently. She had been quiet since the ritual, her eyes constantly searching the shadows. As I started a small, magical fire with a flick of my ironwood staff, she sat across from me, her silver hair reflecting the dancing orange flames.
"Your staff," she suddenly spoke, her voice soft. "Merek didn't just give you a weapon. That wood comes from the Elder Tree of Elaria. It reacts to the intent of the wielder."
I looked at the dark, heavy wood. "I just thought it was sturdier than my old one."
"Try it," she urged, her blue eyes locked on mine. "Think of protection. Not just a shield, but a weapon that defends."
I closed my eyes and gripped the ironwood. I thought of the village, the fire, and the way I felt when I first saw Lyria under the rubble. A fierce need to protect her surged through me.
Suddenly, the staff didn't just glow; it transformed. Thin, razor-sharp blades of pure light extended from both ends, humming with power. It wasn't just a mage's staff anymore—it was a Glaive of Light.
"Whoa..." I nearly dropped it in surprise. The blades vanished as soon as my focus wavered.
"You have the heart of a Guardian, Shakil," Lyria said, stepping closer. For the first time, she reached out and touched my cheek. Her hand was no longer ice-cold; it was warm, matching the heat of our bond. "But the Dark Lord Kael won't just send shadows next time. He will send his Generals."
The moment her skin touched mine, the bond flared. I didn't just feel her warmth—I felt her sorrow. A deep, ancient loneliness that made my heart ache. Without thinking, I caught her hand and held it there.
"You're not alone anymore, Lyria. I don't care about the prophecy or the Dark Lord. I'm staying."
She didn't pull away. For a heartbeat, the world felt still—no war, no monsters, just the crackling of the fire and the two of us.
But then, the ground beneath us trembled. A low, rhythmic thumping started from deep within the mountain, like the heartbeat of a giant.
"He found us," Lyria whispered, her face turning pale.
The mountain wasn't just stone and ice. It was a trap.