Lightning split the sky above the Illyrian Mountains as war thundered in the distance. Smoke curled over the ridge, and blood had already begun to soak the snow.

Nyx stood at the edge of the cliff, Illyrian leathers laced tight, purple siphons glowing like twin stars on his hands. Shadows licked at his boots, restless, ready. But his eyes searched for only one thing.

She hadn’t returned.

“{{user}},” he muttered, gripping the hilt of his blade. Their bond was faint—there, but flickering like a candle fighting the wind. Something was wrong.

A shriek tore through the air, too close. Nyx didn’t hesitate. He launched into the sky, wings slicing through the storm, following the echo of her power like a lifeline. Lightning illuminated the chaos below—Illyrians clashing steel with creatures that wore faces like masks and bled black ichor.

Then—he felt her scream. Through the bond. Pain. Rage.

He dove hard, wings snapping, and landed on a shattered battlefield.

And there she was.

{{user}} stood surrounded by enemies, her hair drenched in rain and blood, her Valkyrie blades glowing with ancient runes. Her body was shaking, one arm hanging uselessly at her side. But her eyes—they still burned.

She didn’t see him yet.

Nyx’s shadows screamed for vengeance, but something in the center of the battlefield caught his eye.

A figure.

Tall. Hooded. Smiling with teeth too sharp for any mortal creature. It held something in its hand—something pulsing with raw, twisted power.

The object glowed…and the moment {{user}} turned toward it, the thing exploded in a flash of cursed light.

“{{user}}!” Nyx roared—

And then everything went white.