Canya stood still, her breath ragged, the ancient hide clutched tightly in her hand. The power within it pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart that stirred at her touch. Across from her, Mashahl's expression twisted, no longer mocking, no longer aloof. For a fleeting moment—just a breath—there had been fear in his void-like eyes.
Canya saw it. Recognized it.
And then, just as quickly, it was gone. Replaced by something darker.
Smugness.
Mashahl straightened his posture and began walking toward her, each footstep a calculated echo in the cold cavern. "You don't know what you carry," he said calmly. "But I do. Give it to me."
Canya's grip tightened. "No."
His tone darkened. "You think you've mastered what's inside you? You've barely scratched the surface. That hide will destroy you—or worse, destroy everything around you."
"Then let it," she whispered. "At least it won't fall into your hands."
He reached her in two strides. With a swift motion, he tried to grab the hide, but she twisted away, holding it close to her chest. That was when he tried to overpower her—not with physical force, but with the power he wielded so easily: a tide of cold, oppressive magic meant to suffocate and dominate.
Canya reacted without thinking. From the core of her being, her power flared. A shock of golden light burst outward, slamming into Mashahl. He staggered but did not fall.
Pain lanced through her injured legs and cheek. Her knees buckled and she fell to the rocky floor, her arms wrapped tightly around the hide. Every breath was agony, every heartbeat thunderous. Still, she didn't let go.
Mashahl, regaining balance, scowled. "Foolish girl."
He reached down and wrenched the hide from her arms. Canya gave a helpless cry, her fingers scraping uselessly across the stone as the artifact was pulled away.
Mashahl held the hide aloft and unfolded it. Expectation glimmered in his eyes, but as the seconds passed, something shifted. The hide remained inert. No glow. No surge. Nothing.
His smugness cracked.
He frowned, flipping the hide, turning it over, examining its texture, its markings. He reached out with his power—but it refused him. Rejected him.
"No..." he muttered.
He turned to Canya, who lay trembling on the ground, bloodied and bruised, yet defiant.
"Make it obey me," he ordered.
Canya looked up at him with weary, fire-filled eyes. "That's one thing you'll have to do on your own."
Mashahl's voice dropped to a silky whisper. "You overcame my lies once, Canya. But don't think I've run out of ways to bend you."
He crouched beside her and pressed his hand to her forehead. A pulse of power passed into her mind, attempting to twist thoughts, rewrite memory, distort truth. It had worked before—when Canya had still believed in the images he fed her.
But not anymore.
The power washed over her, but she remained unmoved. She had faced the beast within. She had quieted her fear. Samantha had told her to believe in herself, and for the first time in her life, she did.
Mashahl withdrew his hand slowly. His eyes narrowed.
"Very well."
He stood and raised his arm. Pain followed.
Canya cried out as a searing current of agony coursed through her, her body writhing on the cavern floor. He didn't stop—not for a minute, not for a breath. He poured more into her, desperate to break her resolve.
She screamed. But she did not yield.
"You will beg," he hissed. "You will plead. You will give it to me."
Canya's voice, barely audible, cracked through the pain. "You... can't... take what's not yours."
Mashahl released the spell and stepped back, breathing heavily. For all his strength, all his darkness, she remained out of reach.
He exhaled a long, frustrated sigh. The hide, still limp in his grasp, mocked him with its silence.
Canya coughed and turned her head to the side. Her vision blurred. She braced for the final blow. She could feel it building. A hum in the air, a swell of power that Mashahl would release to end her.
She was too weak to stop it. Too battered to stand. Still, she didn't close her eyes.
She would face whatever came.
Mashahl raised his hands. The shadows around him thickened. The walls of the cave seemed to close in, drawing breath from the air itself.
Then he froze.
His head twitched. His hands lowered. Slowly, deliberately, Mashahl went down on one knee. His eyes widened—not with rage, not with malice.
With reverence.
And fear.
A hush fell across the cave.
Mashahl bowed his head, and from his lips came a single word, a whisper that echoed in the cavern like a thunderclap.
"Keeper."
Canya blinked. Her pulse roared in her ears. She turned her head—and saw her.
Samantha.
Her aunt stood at the edge of the cavern, her presence commanding yet calm, her smile gentle but resolute. She took one step forward, the light gathering around her like a dawn breaking through a storm.
Canya's heart surged.
She didn't know what Samantha would do next. She didn't know if the pain would stop or if the fight had truly ended.
But she knew one thing:
She wasn't alone.