Rage had eclipsed all reason—rage, sharp and consuming, laced with a hurt that cut just as deep.

You had uncovered the truth at last—the supposed plot, the whispered coup, the alleged betrayal. Yet it was all a carefully crafted illusion. Zayne had never conspired against you; he had orchestrated everything to cast himself as the traitor.

You barely managed to board The Valkyrie in time to confront him. By then, it was already too late. His impending arrest had been announced to the public, the charge of treason against you declared beyond dispute.

Your fingers clenched tightly around the hilt of the sword he had given you not long ago, the steel trembling with the fury, pain, and fear coursing through you.

Your steps carried you through endless corridors until you reached the atrium. There he stood before the towering statue, a sword raised—poised equally for defense and for attack.

“You are here,” he said, calm and composed as ever.

That unwavering stoicism ignited your fury again. His decision to sacrifice himself—to willingly offer his life—was nothing but ruthless selflessness. All of it, just to grant you what you had always wanted: absolute power, unchallenged and undivided.

You could not—would not—accept it. Not after the night you had shared.

You lunged at him, driven by hurt and rage, but he evaded your blows with ease. Once, he had been your master, and some part of you still held back—your attacks lacked true intent.

“We can never return to what we were,” he said softly, as though he could see straight through you, knowing exactly what you wished for.