The Final Chance

The battlefield blurred around me as my mind struggled to grasp the weight of his words.

The final chance. The last opportunity to change the outcome.

My breathing grew shallow. How many times had he done this? How many times had he failed?

I wanted to speak—to ask, to demand, to scream—but my voice still wouldn't come.

The other me studied my face and gave a knowing smirk. "You don't need to say anything. I already know what you're thinking."

He turned back to the battlefield, watching as Frostfang roared, his icy breath clashing against Pyrion's infernal flames. Veydris, despite being human now, fought with unyielding fury, his blade carving through the enemy. Zarathorak, battered and bloodied, still refused to fall.

And then… Ingi.

Motionless. Lying among the ruins.

My vision blurred for a moment. No.

"You see it, don't you?" the other me muttered. "This war... is already lost."