The sword was supposed to be unbreakable. That was the vow the blacksmith made, the whispered promise of the enchantment etched into its steel. It was bound to you—bound to Silas. A weapon crafted not just from metal, but from magic, from soul. If it shattered, the one who anchored it to this world—your soulmate—would die.

Your fingers tightened around it as you fought, the weight of it familiar, comforting. It had been forged with blood magic, a ritual binding it to Silas, the one person you couldn’t live without. As long as the sword remained intact, so did he. It was your greatest strength—and your greatest weakness.

The battle had been brutal. The ground was slick with blood, the air thick with the scent of steel and smoke. Your arms ached, lungs burned, but you kept fighting. For him. For the life you had yet to live together.

Then it happened.

A strike too fast to block, a misstep too costly. The enemy’s blade came down, and with it, the sickening sound of steel snapping in two.

You barely felt the wound as the broken shards of your sword fell to the ground. But you felt him.

Silas’s scream echoed across the battlefield—a sharp, agonizing sound that cut deeper than any blade.

"No—" Your breath hitched as you turned, your body moving before your mind could catch up. He was collapsing, his legs giving out beneath him, his hands clawing at his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

You ran. Dropped your shattered weapon and ran.

"Silas!"

He looked up at you, eyes wide with panic, with pain. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

"I—I can’t—" His fingers trembled as they reached for you, barely able to grasp your arm. His heartbeat, once steady and strong, was fading—you could feel it fading, as if it were your own.