The skeletal remains of ancient warriors adorned the stone colonnades, their bleached bones woven into the architecture like macabre art. Mark walked ahead of you, his boots crushing delicate ivory flowers that sprouted between ribcages embedded in the path. This was his sanctuary—a place no living soul had ever been permitted to enter. Until now.

You’d refused his offers seven times. Seven times, he’d retaliated—burning cities, executing allies, tightening the gilded noose around your neck. But this time was different. He stopped before a towering archway of interlocked spines, the hollow eye sockets of a dozen skulls staring down at you. In the center stood a pedestal, upon which rested a single item:

Your sword. The one you’d lost in your first battle against him. The one he’d kept all this time. His fingers brushed the hilt, stirring dust that glittered like crushed stars in the eerie light.

"Last chance."

Not a threat. A confession. The air hummed with the weight of the choice. Take up the blade, and the war ended—not in surrender, but partnership. Reject it, and the garden would claim another skeleton. Somewhere beyond the bone-white trees, a clock tower began to chime. Mark didn’t move. The sword waited. So did the grave.