Chapter Eight: The Price of Awakening
The battle with the masked figure tore through the ruins like a hurricane.
Stones cracked. Fire and shadow danced in a deadly waltz.
But Kain noticed it first—the way Lyra's breathing grew heavier, the faint trembling of her hands.
Vera's whisper confirmed his fear:
"The Vessel inside her... it's unstable. She's forcing its power beyond her limits."
Before Kain could act, the masked enemy spoke again, his voice dripping with mockery:
"Poor children of light... You think your sparks can outshine the Abyss?"
He thrust his hand into the ground—and the earth split open, vomiting forth a grotesque beast stitched together from corpses and metal. Its roar shook the heavens.
Kain and Lyra fought with everything they had.
But with each passing second, Lyra's light dimmed. Her spear shattered. Her steps faltered.
In a desperate move, she gathered the last of her silver fire, forging a single arrow of pure essence.
She aimed it not at the beast—
—but at Kain.
"Protect the Origin," her voice echoed in his mind, soft and resolute.
The arrow struck Kain's chest—not wounding him, but embedding a part of her Vessel within him, a second flame to shield him.
The backlash consumed Lyra instantly.
She fell without a sound, her cloak fluttering like a dying star.
Kain screamed—
—but there was no time for grief.
The beast roared again, and Kain felt two powers now burning within him: Vera... and the fragment of Lyra's light.
Tears blurring his vision, rage fueling his soul, he rose.
The ground trembled as Kain unleashed both forces at once.
The beast never even had a chance to scream before it was obliterated into ash.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Kain collapsed to his knees beside Lyra's still form.
The price of awakening had been paid in blood.
And in the distance, deep within the hidden Thrones of the world, ancient forces stirred, sensing that a true heir had been born.