The realm shifted, trembling under the weight of ancient magic. Lyra stood at the heart of a shattered sanctuary, moonlight bleeding through cracks in the sky above. The spell circle drawn beneath her feet pulsed with forbidden symbols, her own blood laced into every rune. Wind howled through the hollowed bones of forgotten deities, and the air was thick with an ache she could not name.
The time had come.
She raised her arms, her voice barely a whisper at first. The incantation was in the old tongue—twisted, sharp, like broken glass in the mouth. Her bones rattled with each word. The air around her grew colder, heavy with a presence she hadn't felt since the last war.
The Forgotten King.
He emerged not with thunder, but with silence. Reality bowed at his arrival, folding inwards like paper set aflame. Shadows lengthened and hissed, crawling toward him like dogs to a master.
"You summon me, daughter of ruin," he said, voice both ancient and amused. "Come to beg for your beloved? Or to finish what fate began?"
Lyra's eyes burned. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to release the next spell. "I've come to end it," she said. "You. Me. This cycle."
The king smiled, teeth like thorns. "Oh, little vessel. You were always mine."
He struck without warning. A blast of cursed flame surged toward her, and she countered with a barrier of living light. The collision cracked the ground, throwing her backward. Her limbs ached, but she pushed up again, eyes wild with fury and fear.
Spells flew like arrows—blinding light, burning shadow, whispers that clawed at sanity. The earth cracked. Stars blinked out. Lyra's heartbeat was a war drum, pounding against ribs that barely held together.
The king's laughter echoed through the air, distorted and dark. "You cannot win, not without losing everything."
"I already have!" she screamed.
He pressed her back with a wave of raw power, and for a moment, the air around her stilled. "You want to seal me? Then let me show you what you will forget."
Suddenly, images surged forward—Raven smiling, Raven dying, her own hands covered in his blood. His last breath, her last whisper.
She dropped to her knees, sobbing. Her magic faltered. Pain blossomed in her skull, in her chest, in her soul. Her memories flickered—faint, trembling, slipping. Was Raven's voice real? Did he ever hold her?
But then…
"Lyra."
A whisper. Not from the king, but from the shadow of her mind. A memory trying to anchor itself. Raven.
"Finish it."
She opened her eyes. Her pain turned to fire. She rose.
The king lunged, and this time she didn't shield. She accepted his strike, letting it pierce her shoulder—and used that closeness to press a binding rune into his chest. He screamed.
"I know the cost," she gasped. "But I choose it."
She began the Endspell.
It wasn't a chant. It was her breath. Her memories. Her grief. Every piece of her she could still hold onto.
The spell reacted—chains of light wrapping around the king, tightening. He flailed, darkness pouring from his mouth, his eyes. "NO! I MADE YOU!"
Lyra bled magic now. Her vision blurred. The air screamed.
But she didn't stop.
Even as her voice cracked from the force of the incantation. Even as her hands trembled and her knees threatened to give way. Even as the wind howled louder, furious that she dared command the old magic.
The King writhed, shadows peeling off his form like burnt parchment. Still, he reached toward her, his voice low and desperate now, "You think you're saving them? You're repeating the same cycle—choosing them over yourself. You are mine, Lyra."
She faltered a step, the echo of his claim sliding like ice through her blood. But her magic flared again, brighter—hotter—fueled by every scar, every ghost, every kiss and every goodbye.
"I was never yours," she whispered, power surging around her like a rising storm. "Not in this life. Not in the next."
He screamed—not in rage this time, but fear. Raw, ancient fear.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the battlefield as his form splintered, clawing at the space between worlds.
"You'll forget," he rasped. "You'll forget everything. Even him."
Her eyes shimmered with tears that would never fall. "Then I'll forget with peace."
A final surge of energy blasted from her core—light threaded with blood, pain, and love. It swallowed the darkness.
And the Forgotten King… vanished.
Not with a roar. Not with a whisper.
He simply ceased.
As if he had never been.