Chapter 37

The battlefield was still alive with the clash of steel and the sickening sound of blades meeting flesh. But the moment Draven spoke, a shift occurred—like the world itself was holding its breath.

From his place atop the ridge, Draven was the master of this stage, looking down upon them as if he were merely an observer to a performance he'd already scripted.

Elara’s heart pounded against her ribs. She had known—known—he wasn’t truly dead. Yet seeing him again, standing there as if his fall had been nothing but an inconvenience, sent a cold shudder down her spine.

And now Astra was in his grip, battered and bound.

Astra, who had risked everything to warn them.

Draven's smirk widened, sensing Elara's hesitation. He lifted a gloved hand, gripping Astra’s throat lightly, not enough to strangle but just enough to show he could.

“Come, Elara,” he purred. “You wouldn’t let an ally suffer for your pride, would you?”

Leon took a step forward, his body tense with restrained fury. “Let her go.”

Draven barely glanced at him. “Ah, the ever-loyal knight. Always so quick to protect what isn’t his.”

Leon stiffened, but he didn’t rise to the bait.

Elara’s grip on her sword tightened until her knuckles ached. “What do you want, Draven?”

Draven tilted his head, pretending to consider. “A great many things. But at this moment?” His dark gaze locked onto hers, and the power lurking beneath his skin made the air itself feel heavier. “A conversation.”

Behind her, Soren scoffed. “You don’t send an army of the dead for a conversation.”

Draven ignored him, his focus never leaving Elara. “Come, Elara. We have unfinished business.”

Elara exhaled slowly. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap. But Astra was running out of time.

Leon’s fingers brushed her wrist—just briefly—but enough to pull her from the rising storm inside her chest.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured.

Elara met his gaze. I do.

She took a step forward.

Then another.

Leon cursed under his breath, falling in step beside her. Soren, too, followed without hesitation.

If she was walking into a trap, at least she wouldn’t be doing it alone.

\---

A Face from the Past

As they closed the distance, Draven released Astra, allowing her to slump to the ground. She groaned but didn’t move.

Elara's pulse hammered as she looked at Astra's still form. Her once-imposing figure now seemed small, vulnerable.

Draven let out a disappointed sigh. “I had hoped she’d last a little longer, but it seems her usefulness has run out.”

Elara’s fury surged, but she forced herself to stay still. “You talk too much.”

Draven chuckled. “And you’ve always been impatient. Tell me, Elara—do you ever wonder what might have happened if you’d made different choices?”

Her fingers twitched on the hilt of her sword. “I don’t waste time on what-ifs.”

Draven tsked. “A shame. I do. I think about it often, actually.” His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Do you know what I see?”

Elara said nothing.

Draven smiled. “I see us. Side by side. Like it was always meant to be.”

The air between them crackled.

Leon stepped forward, fury barely concealed beneath his composed exterior. “You’re delusional.”

Draven flicked his gaze to Leon, the amusement in his eyes sharpening. “Ah, and here you are. The ever-present shadow.” He smirked. “Tell me, Leon—does it bother you?”

Leon didn’t react, but Elara felt the tension in his stance.

Draven continued, his voice like silk. “Knowing that no matter how many battles you fight, no matter how many times you protect her… you will never be me.”

Silence.

Elara barely breathed.

Draven’s smirk widened. “I am her past, Leon. Her history. You? You’re just the momentary distraction.”

Leon moved before she could stop him.

His blade was a blur, slicing through the air—aimed straight for Draven’s throat.

But it never landed.

Draven vanished—fading into shadow as if he had never been there.

Leon’s blade struck empty air.

And then—

Pain.

A force like cold fire slammed into Leon’s chest, sending him flying backward. He crashed into the ground, coughing as dark magic crackled around him.

“Leon!”

Elara sprinted toward him, skidding to her knees beside him. He groaned, his body rigid with pain, but he was alive.

Draven reappeared several feet away, unchanged. Untouched.

Elara’s rage burned white-hot. “You—”

Draven raised a hand, cutting her off. “Now, now. Don’t let your emotions get the better of you.”

Elara’s magic surged against her skin, demanding release. She forced it down. Barely.

Draven studied her for a long moment before speaking. “You think this ends on the battlefield?” His voice was softer now, almost thoughtful. “No, Elara. The war isn’t here.”

Elara clenched her fists. “Then where is it?”

Draven smiled.

Then he whispered, “Home.”

The word sent ice through her veins.

And in the next instant, he was gone.

The undead fell instantly—lifeless once more. The battlefield was still.

Elara could hardly breathe.

Draven was going to the capital.

And he was going to burn it to the ground.