The flames did not burn Kael—they remembered him. They licked at his skin like old ghosts, whispering names of fallen Alphas, of promises broken beneath the same cursed moon. And within the inferno stood Lyria. Her body flickered between light and shadow, her eyes a storm of fear and fury.
He reached for her.
Every instinct screamed mine, yet every shred of reason told him this wasn't her—not completely. The Hollow still clung to her soul like a parasite, weaving its whispers through her veins.
"Lyria," he said hoarsely. "You have to fight it. You're stronger than this."
Her lips trembled. For a heartbeat, he saw her—his Lyria—shine through. But then her expression twisted into something cruelly familiar, something ancient.
"Stronger?" she echoed, her voice layered—hers and another's. "No, Kael. I'm finally free."
