Beneath the Dusk Ridge, the night lay thick and heavy.
The remnants of the Silver Flame army stealthily advanced to the edge of the Broken Moon Valley, where the wind carried the stench of blood mingled with tar. In the sky, a meteor the night, a red streak plummeting into the distance—the apostle of the Cracked Moon King had arrived. And Evelyn knew this was no omen, but a declaration of war.
She stood on the high ground, her gaze steady, with the newly gathered Snow Flame vanguard behind her. Reynold and Ileia stood at her sides, while Lucian quietly stepped up behind her, his eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed shoulder and neck.
"You shouldn't go further," Lucian murmured, his voice as faint as snowflakes scattering in the wind. "You know who is summoning you."
"The will of Casas will return eventually," Evelyn replied softly, a hint of coldness curving her lips. "I've never denied fate, but I will rewrite it with my own hands."
As the words fell, she turned, her gaze sharp and clear as she met Lucian's eyes. In the next instant, he suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the tent before them.
Inside the tent, firelight flickered, and the thick smell of blood mingled with desire in the air. The anger in his eyes finally melted into blazing longing as he roughly pressed her down onto the furs.
"Must you always sacrifice yourself to save this world?!" Lucian's voice was hoarse, anger and craving tangled together. "Or do you secretly crave destruction?"
Between gasps, Evelyn pulled him toward her, their lips and tongues clashing fiercely. By the firelight, their intertwined bodies seemed to embody the very essence of flame. Cloth and armor tore as skin met skin, battle fervor and passion merging into a silent roar.
She bit his shoulder: "I'm not waiting for destruction. I'm waiting for you to reclaim me."
He growled low in his throat, thrusting deep, and heat and pain exploded in an instant. Evelyn's nails scored his back, a sensation more intoxicating to him than any blade.
They clashed again and again between furs and flame, sweat mingling, gasps overlapping. In that moment, no words were needed—only bodies defying fate and craving one another.
The war drums began to beat softly.
Lucian finally leaned close to her ear, his words a low bite: "Survive. You must survive."
She took his hand, glancing back at the starry sky: "I don't believe in prophecies. I only believe in you."
Moments later, armor once again clad their bodies. Evelyn was the first to step out of the tent, her silver armor like frost, her cloak billowing. In her eyes burned a fire not of the gods, but of human will.
Dawn was approaching.
At the end of the Broken Moon Valley, a red figure hovered in the air. The apostle of the Cracked Moon King, cloaked in meteor wings, descended slowly, blood and fire curling around them as they stared coldly down at the mortal world.
Ileia drew her sword, Reynold began murmuring incantations under his breath, and Evelyn alone wielded a sword that ignited the wind.
"The king's decree is here—"
She pointed her sword tip at the sky: "Today, I shall shatter the stars and bury you in the earth!"