Chapter 12
The cavern is a tomb now, the walls grinding closer with a low, guttural rumble that vibrates through my bones. The air's nearly gone—each breath a shallow rasp, tasting of rust and despair—and the entity towers above us, its crowned silhouette a jagged wound against the flickering runes. The shard floats between Kaelen and me, its black surface pulsing like a heartbeat, its ultimatum echoing in my skull: *"Choose… one… or none…"* The Rhea-thing stands at the pool's edge, its too-many-teeth grin stretching wider, ooze dripping from its form as the eyes in the water multiply, unblinking, fixed on us.
Kaelen's slumped against me, his blood slicking my hands, his broken arm limp at his side. His chest heaves, ragged and wet, and the thread between us is a whisper—faint, flickering, clinging to life like a dying ember. I clutch him tighter, my shredded robe a useless shield against the cold seeping from the stone, and his gray eyes meet mine—dim, haunted, but still him, still fighting. "Lysara," he croaks, voice barely audible over the entity's chant, my name a litany from its countless mouths. "Don't let it win."
The Rhea-thing steps closer, its clawed feet clicking, and tendrils rise from the pool—thinner now, whip-like, tipped with barbs that glint in the bruised light. "You gave," it says again, voice a distorted mockery of hers, and the memory of what it forced us to do—our bodies entwined, violated—twists my stomach, bile burning my throat. The shard flares, and the whispers sharpen—*"One lives… one breaks… choose…"*—and I feel it probing, peeling back my mind, offering glimpses: Kaelen free, me consumed; me standing, him gone. Each vision is a knife, carving away what's left of me.
"No," I choke, shaking my head, but the tendrils lash out, one snaring Kaelen's wrist, yanking him from my grasp. He grunts, too weak to fight, and another coils around my throat, tight but not strangling—holding, waiting. The entity leans closer, its crown of bone glinting, and the air crackles, the pool's eyes pulsing in rhythm with the shard. "Choose," it booms, a voice that shakes the cavern, dust raining from the ceiling, and the walls groan, inches from crushing us.
Kaelen's head lolls, blood dripping from his lips, but he forces his eyes open, reaching for me with his good hand. "You," he rasps, fingers trembling, brushing mine. "Take it. Live." The thread flares, a last surge of his will—selfless, fierce, breaking my heart—and I sob, clutching his hand, the warmth of him slipping away.
"I can't," I whisper, tears streaming, but the Rhea-thing lunges, claws slashing at his chest, and he screams—a sound that rips through me, the thread snapping taut with his pain. The entity's laughter peaks, deafening, and the shard descends, its edge pressing into my palm, cold and final. *"Now…"* it hisses, and the tendrils tighten, lifting Kaelen higher, his blood pooling below, his eyes fading.
My mind fractures—centuries of isolation, his touch, our bond, all crashing against this moment—and I scream, raw and primal, slamming my free hand against the stone. Magic sparks, feeble, but the grimoire's pull surges, a tidal wave in my blood, and I grasp it—not surrender, but defiance. "Neither!" I shout, voice cracking, and I hurl the shard at the Rhea-thing, violet fire erupting from my core, weak but wild.
It shrieks, staggering, the tendrils faltering, and Kaelen drops, hitting the ground hard. I crawl to him, dragging him against me, his breath a faint wheeze as the cavern trembles, the entity roaring—*"Fool… all… mine…"* The pool explodes, ooze surging upward, and the eyes blink as one, the Rhea-thing dissolving into a mass of claws and teeth, lunging for us. The walls close, inches from my shoulders, and the thread flickers—one last pulse, his hand in mine, before the abyss swallows us.
Darkness—absolute, suffocating—claims me, the entity's laughter the last sound I hear, and I don't know if we're alive, dead, or something worse. The thread's gone, a void where he was, and I'm alone, falling, the breaking point crossed into nothing.