The Shadow-Weaver's blade was three inches from my throat when the world exploded.
I should have been afraid.
Instead, I was angry.
The masked man in front of me had killed seventeen Solarian Knights in the past month. His name was Ash, according to intelligence—a Shadow-Weaver assassin from the Night-Realm with a reputation for cruelty and a kill count that made veterans flinch.
Now he was here. In my watchtower. His blade at my throat.
"You're younger than I expected," he said. His voice was warm, almost amused. Like killing was a joke. "The reports said Lyra Valtoris was a seasoned warrior. You look like you haven't finished training."
"I haven't finished breakfast either. Want to reschedule?"
He laughed. Actually laughed.
And in that moment of distraction, I moved.
My Ember exploded from my palm—not at his face, but at his feet. Golden fire erupted between us, forcing him back. His blade sliced my collar as he retreated, shallow but stinging. I didn't care.
I was already attacking.
Fire lanced from both hands. He dodged left, rolled, came up with shadows writhing around him like living things. Beautiful, in a disgusting way. Like watching poison flowers bloom.
"Not bad," he said.
"I'm just warming up."
We clashed again. Fire against shadow. Light against dark. The watchtower walls shook with the impact of our magic, stones crumbling, dust raining from above.
He was good. Better than me, if I was honest.
But I wasn't going to die here. Not today. Not ever.
I feigned left, then dropped and swept his legs. He went down hard, his head cracking against stone. For a moment, he lay still—stunned, vulnerable.
I raised my hand to finish him.
And the world did explode.
Not my Ember. Something else. Something ancient and terrible that ripped through the watchtower like a god's fist. The walls shattered. The floor collapsed. I was falling, falling, falling—
Then hands grabbed me.
His hands. The enemy's hands.
He caught me mid-fall, shadows wrapping around us both, slowing our descent. We crashed through another floor, then another, then hit something solid. Pain exploded through my ribs.
When I opened my eyes, he was on top of me, breathing hard, his face inches from mine.
"You're heavy," I gasped.
"You're welcome." He grinned. "I just saved your life."
"I was about to kill you."
"And now you owe me." His silver eyes sparkled with something that looked dangerously like interest. "I'm collecting later."
Before I could respond, the air screamed.
We both looked up. Through the hole we'd made, something was glowing—a sphere of pure energy, gold and silver swirling together, crackling with power neither of us understood.
"The Sundering Crystal," he breathed. "It's activating."
"Then let go of me."
"Gladly."
He rolled off. We both scrambled to our feet, staring up at the impossible thing floating above us.
And then, together, without thinking, we both reached for it.
Our hands touched the Crystal at the same moment.
Fire and shadow exploded from us both—not separately, but together. Gold and silver merged, swirled, became something new. Something that burned through my veins and his at once.
I screamed. He screamed.
And when the light faded, I looked down at my palm.
A mark was burned into my skin. Gold and silver, swirling endlessly. I looked at him.
He showed me his palm. Same mark.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
"What did we do?"
The Crystal pulsed once, gently, then went dark.
And in the silence that followed, I realized two terrible truths:
First, I could feel him. His emotions, his thoughts, his presence—like a second heartbeat inside my chest.
Second, when I tried to step away, agony lanced through my entire body.
I couldn't leave him.
I was bound to my enemy.
And he was grinning at me like this was the best thing that ever happened to him.
"Well," he said. "This is going to be interesting."