Elira's heart raced as she watched the Watcher advance, his blade raised high with lethal intent. Her hand trembled on the hilt of her dagger, but it wasn't from fear. It was something else—something deep, gnawing at her instincts. A hesitation.
Caelan's figure stood before them, still surrounded by a field of raw energy, his face twisted in concentration. He was reaching for something—something beyond the limits of what he understood, something ancient and primal. The pulse of his power filled the air, thickening the atmosphere, making it difficult to breathe.
And yet, despite the violence in his aura, despite the threat that he posed, there was something about him that called to her.
A connection.
Elira's eyes darted to the Watcher. His gaze was focused, unblinking, his grip on his sword firm. He was a weapon, a trained killer. But Elira… she was something more than that.
She didn't want to kill him. Not yet.
The Watcher's next move came so swiftly that it startled her—he took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and Caelan with a warrior's grace. His blade flashed in the dim light of the shattered rift, aiming directly for the boy's heart.
Elira reacted on instinct, her dagger raised, but she didn't step forward. Instead, she hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Caelan, who was unaware of the imminent danger, lost in his trance-like focus as the energy around him surged and pulsed.
Something in Elira stirred. A memory of the boy's face, bloodied and broken in the alleyways of Vereth Kal, flashed through her mind. The boy who had fought for survival, who had faced the darkness of the world and still managed to cling to the light. Could it be that he wasn't what they had been told to believe?
He's no different from us. He's just trying to survive.
The thought hit her like a storm, drowning out the calm certainty of the Watcher's approach.
Her muscles tensed. The Watcher was now just a few paces from Caelan. She could hear the scrape of his boots against the ground, the faint hiss of his blade slicing through the air.
"No!" The word slipped out before she could stop it, a sharp, panicked cry that echoed in the silence of the forest.
The Watcher halted, his expression flickering with confusion. He turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing at Elira.
"Move aside, Elira," he growled, his tone icy. "He must be stopped."
"No." Her voice was firm now, her grip on her dagger tightening. "I won't let you."
The Watcher stared at her for a long moment, his gaze shifting between her and Caelan, as if trying to decide whether this was some kind of trick. But it wasn't. Elira could feel it in the pit of her stomach—this wasn't just about following orders anymore. It was about what she believed, what she felt deep down inside her bones.
"He's dangerous," the Watcher hissed. "You can feel it too. The corruption is in him. It's already too late."
"No," Elira repeated, her voice steady now. "He's not corrupted. He's… lost. He's just trying to understand. He needs someone to help him. Not to kill him."
The Watcher's lips curled into a bitter smile, but there was no humor in it. "You're naïve. That boy is a weapon. He's far beyond help. We either end him now, or the world will burn."
Elira stepped forward, the distance between them closing. Her heart was pounding, but she couldn't turn back. Not now. Not when she could see, hear, and feel what Caelan was going through.
He wasn't ready to be a weapon.
And she wasn't going to let him become one.
She kept her eyes fixed on the Watcher, the dagger held in front of her. "I won't let you do this."
For a moment, there was silence. The Watcher didn't move, didn't speak. His hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, and Elira braced herself. The air around them was thick with tension—each breath they took seemed to make the world hold its breath.
Then, with a sharp, final gesture, the Watcher nodded. But there was no warmth in the movement, no understanding. Only cold acceptance of what was to come.
"I see," he said. His voice was a low murmur. "Then you choose him over me."
"Over everything," Elira replied, her voice hard, unyielding.
Without warning, the Watcher lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc aimed for Caelan's heart.
Elira's pulse quickened, but she didn't hesitate. She moved in a blur, her dagger flashing in the dim light as she intercepted the Watcher's strike. The force of their clash rang out through the air like a crack of thunder, the sound of steel meeting steel echoing in the silent woods.
For a moment, the Watcher seemed surprised, as if he had not expected Elira to fight back. But then he recovered, his blade swinging again with brutal precision. Elira blocked the strike, but the force sent her stumbling back, her legs burning from the impact. She regained her balance quickly, her eyes narrowing.
This wasn't just a fight. This was a battle for their very beliefs.
"Do you understand, Elira?" the Watcher growled, circling her. "Do you understand what's at stake? We're dealing with something far beyond what you can imagine."
"I understand," she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through her. "I understand that you're trying to destroy him before he even has a chance to choose. You're so blinded by your duty that you can't see the truth."
The Watcher's expression hardened, his gaze like flint. "I see the truth. The truth is that he's a weapon, and we cannot let it fall into the wrong hands."
But Elira wasn't listening. Her eyes were fixed on Caelan. His energy was still surging, the Weave pulsing violently around him. He was so close—he was teetering on the edge of something, something that could either destroy him or elevate him.
He wasn't the monster the Watcher believed him to be. And Elira wasn't going to let the Watcher make him into one.
With a quick, decisive movement, Elira threw herself into the fray, deflecting another strike from the Watcher. But her eyes never left Caelan.
He was beginning to stir, his body shifting slightly as the energy around him seemed to coalesce.
Now was the time.
If she didn't act now, they would all be too late.