Not from shadows. Not from stone breaking. From something colder.
Maeven froze, eyes flicking up. The humans, pressed against the walls, gasped as a new presence spilled into the cavern.
A girl's voice. Soft. Almost trembling.
"Enough."
Shadows bent around her as she stepped forward. Nysha.
Her red eyes glowed in the dark, not wild like Lindarion's, but steady. Her hands trembled, yes, but her voice didn't break again.
"You'll kill him," she said, glaring up at Maeven. "And if you do—" her breath hitched once, then hardened into steel "—you'll have to go through me."
Maeven blinked. Then he laughed, quieter this time, almost curious.
"And what are you, little demon? Another scrap to feed the dark?"
Nysha didn't answer. She lifted her hand. Shadows stirred, not Lindarion's, not the blade's, but hers. They coiled around him, pulling his broken body away, wrapping him in a cocoon of black threads. Her knees trembled as she forced the magic to obey.
