CHAPTER 360: WHERE I COULDN’T FOLLOW

The bars dissolved on their own. Florian noticed the change, but his mind barely registered it—something far more urgent demanded his attention.

He had to get to Riona. From a distance, she looked lifeless, and it would have been easy to assume the worst. But Florian refused to believe she was dead. He couldn’t.

He dashed forward, slipping a hand beneath her neck. Gently—achingly so—he lifted her head and rested it on his lap, brushing the hair from her face with trembling fingers. Her right arm dangled unnaturally at her side. The angle was wrong. Too wrong. He examined it and found it broken. Just like her leg.

"No..." The word tore from him in a hoarse whisper.

His fingertips traced the line of her jaw as tears fell onto her cheek, each drop a small surrender to despair. "Riona, wake up," he pleaded, his voice cracking.

He pulled her close, clutching her limp form to his chest. Rocking back and forth, he wailed—low, raw, and guttural—like a wounded animal.

Grief erupted from him in waves so powerful that the subconscious world around him began to tremble. The very fabric of the space quaked, as though shaken by an unseen earthquake.

The invisible ground beneath him started to splinter. Even the dim, wall-less air cracked and fractured, like projected darkness breaking on a surface that was never real.

And still, Florian held her tighter, desperate, frantic, shielding her with his arms as the world inside him began to fall apart.

But it was futile.

When the floor vanished, only Florian remained anchored, surviving solely because this world belonged to him. The others—foreign souls—could not endure it. And despite clinging to his sister with all his strength, Riona slipped from his grasp.

She was becoming something else—less solid, less there. Her body turned almost transparent. He could still see her, but when he reached for her, his hands passed through air. His arms flailed helplessly to catch her, but she was already falling, spiraling down with the collapsing fragments of his crumbling mindscape.

"RIONA!!!" he screamed, pouring every ounce of his soul into her name.

But he could never reach her.

For him, there was still a floor—solid and unyielding. A cruel barrier. It kept him grounded, unable to extend his reach beyond its edge. And beyond that edge, Riona and the wreckage of his subconscious were being swallowed by an endless, consuming darkness.

***

Thorin never kept count of the vampires he’d killed. There was no thrill in it.

Once, he had imagined triumph, standing above the fallen, reigning victorious in the age-old feud between vampires and werewolves. He had pictured vampires admitting defeat, confessing that werewolves were stronger, finally abandoning their condescension.

But none of this brought the satisfaction he’d expected. Not even close.

He made sure those he killed were enemies—true threats. Whenever possible, he held back, focused on defense, on protecting his team. But that ideal was easier imagined than lived.

Some vampires from his opponents’ side, still trapped in the nightmare, didn’t even know what they were doing. To them, he was the nightmare—a beast they believed would destroy them. They fought not out of malice, but out of fear, trying to escape whatever horror their minds conjured.

And these weren’t warriors. They weren’t soldiers. They were women. Common folk. Children.

And no matter how necessary it was, no matter how much he told himself there was no other choice, it never got easier.

Even as Thorin fought—fang to fang, claw to blade—his mind kept drifting back to Riona. His body was locked in combat with the Asvaldur vampires, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He kept stealing glances at her, lying still under Puck’s protection.

He trusted Puck. He believed in his strength and his word. That wasn’t the problem. Thorin looked back not out of doubt, but out of hope—hope that she’d wake up, rise, and end this war once and for all. He didn’t want to kill anymore. He wanted it to be over.

And for that to happen, Riona had to win. She had to defeat the demon and save them all.

Puck didn’t have it easy.

Attacking was simpler—just charge ahead, strike hard, and don’t think. But defense was a whole different battle.

He had to stay close, never drifting too far from Riona and Florian, constantly scanning for threats. He couldn’t afford a single second of distraction. In chaos like this, one second was all it took for everything to fall apart.

Then he heard something.

At first, the sound was buried beneath the louder chaos of battle—clashing powers, snarls, and screams. But being so close, he eventually caught it. A low, strained groan.

Puck turned and saw Florian wince. That wasn’t unusual—both he and Riona often shifted slightly in their unnatural sleep. But this time was different. Florian’s body was moving too much—jerking, thrashing, his legs kicking as though fighting off something only he could see.

Riona, meanwhile, had gone completely still, which was no less weird.

"Ngh!" Florian groaned again, his voice muffled but filled with strain. His hands couldn’t form proper fists, but his entire body was taut, trembling. He convulsed, jolting violently, like he was having a seizure.

Puck dropped to his knees beside him. "Flo? Can you hear me? Are you awake?"

He didn’t know what to do. Fear crept in, gnawing at the edge of his calm. He felt helpless. Maybe it was foolish, but he didn’t know what else to do.

He clung to one assumption: whatever was happening—this battle between Florian, Riona, and the demon—it was unfolding in a realm he couldn’t see. A war behind closed eyes.

Florian kept writhing, and Puck did his best to keep him from hurting himself as he thrashed in his deep, tortured sleep.

"Urrghhh!!" Florian groaned louder, his leg kicking out and striking the pile of debris Puck had carefully arranged as a barrier.

A large stone tumbled free, hurtling toward Riona.

Puck lunged. He threw himself between the rock and her still body, catching it with his back before it could crush her. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the stone aside, just in time to see another chunk of debris falling toward Florian.

He darted again, pushing Florian out of the way. It was chaos. A moment of frantic motion, one crisis after another.

And then, suddenly, Florian jolted upright.

Puck braced, certain the boy would injure himself. But Florian didn’t lash out. He just... stood. Eyes wide. Chest heaving like he’d just outrun death itself. He looked around in a daze, and then his gaze landed on Riona.

Without a word, he dropped to his knees beside her. He pressed his forehead gently to hers and broke into uncontrollable sobs.

Puck moved toward him, cautiously. "Hey, Flo. What’s wrong?"

Florian lifted his tear-streaked face, barely able to speak.

"She died," he whispered. "Riona died."