You Won’t Run From Me

The surroundings were desolate, consumed by the ashes of countless battles. Stella could barely feel the weight of her own body, the cold ground beneath her knees the only anchor to her confused and exhausted mind. Her body, drained of energy, trembled, and each breath was a struggle.

Before her, imposing like an inevitable entity, Ashborne watched. His black armor seemed to devour the light around him, and black and purple flames danced lazily at his sides, consuming even the very air. His presence was suffocating—not just because of the overwhelming power he exuded, but because of the weight of fate he represented for Stella.

"You are getting weaker." His voice was firm, devoid of emotion, as if merely stating an irrefutable fact. He did not mock her, nor taunt her—he simply acknowledged the brutal reality.