CHAPTER 93: FACE REALITY.

Mozrael wiped the blood from her lip and launched forward again, gritting her teeth.

She vanished in a streak of heat, flickering around Lynnor’s flanks, trying to catch her off guard with unpredictable patterns. Lynnor’s eyes followed smoothly. She lifted her hand.

CRACK!

A gust whipped through the clearing. It wasn’t just wind, but a sharpened wall of air, invisible and fast. Mozrael barely crossed her arms in time, blocking it, but the impact sent her skidding across the ground, digging twin trenches behind her heels.

Flames exploded outward in her frustration, melting bark and blackening the air.

"Still burning?" Lynnor raised a brow. "Uh-oh, you’re overheating."

Mozrael coughed violently, and her knees buckled for a moment.

No. Not now. She could feel it already—her power gnawing at her body from the inside. The flames fed on her stamina, burning too fast, too hot. Her vision blurred for a second, but she didn’t stop.

With a growl, she spread her wings and darted high into the sky. Above the treetops, the winds howled against her, cold and biting. She summoned all the flame she could and dive-bombed Lynnor in a spiral of searing energy, screaming, "YOU WON’T TOUCH HIM AGAIN!"

The inferno struck the ground like a meteor, an explosion of blue and gold fire cascading across the clearing. Smoke surged.

For a breathless second, there was silence.

Then—

FWUMP.

The smoke twisted unnaturally and scattered with a single flap of Lynnor’s hand. She stood untouched in the center, hair fluttering, her feet still firmly planted.

Mozrael gasped, still hovering, eyes wide with disbelief.

Lynnor’s smirk vanished.

In an instant, Lynnor appeared in the air beside her, faster than Mozrael could track. She didn’t punch. She snapped her fingers, and a violent sphere of compressed air detonated in Mozrael’s side, sending her spiraling down like a bird struck mid-flight. She crashed into the forest floor, coughing blood into the soil.

Her vision spun.

"Your anger is pure stupidity, girl."

She tried to stand. Her body trembled. Her flames flickered, betraying her.

Lynnor landed softly nearby, watching.

"Even your fire doesn’t listen to you anymore," she said coldly. "You’re strong, Mozrael. But you’re not a weapon, you’re a victim, and your power doesn’t belong to you. It’s eating you alive."

Mozrael forced herself to her feet, staggered forward, growling through the pain. Her left leg nearly buckled. Her right eye clouded with red. Her veins glowed faintly where the dragon’s influence surged. Her fire sparked again, weaker this time.

And she lunged again.

It was raw and desperate. A scream of sorrow and fury and love all tangled into a powerful strike.

Lynnor’s eyes softened for just a heartbeat. "You poor soul."

Then, she stepped forward through Mozrael’s flames, unharmed, and struck with the back of her hand.

THWACK.

Mozrael blocked just in time, but was thrown off. Her feet dug into the fractured earth, her breath ragged as she stared at Lynnor floating above her—unmoved, untouched, and cruelly calm.

Lynnor hovered midair, one leg bent lazily over the other, her hair swaying as if the breeze itself waited for her command. The wind came together, shimmering around her like glass.

"You’re trembling," Lynnor said, her voice rippling through the air like the whisper of a blade. "Is it from exhaustion... or fear?"

Mozrael’s fingers curled into fists. "You’re not the same person I knew."

A smirk tugged at Lynnor’s lips. "You never knew me. Just like you never understood the world you’re trying so hard to protect."

With a flick of her finger, the air snapped.

A sharp pulse surged outward—a silent vibration that Mozrael didn’t hear, but felt. A jolt coursed through her body, rattling her teeth, making her knees buckle. She stumbled backward, eyes wide.

"You feel that?" Lynnor said, gliding closer. "Vibrated air is always subtle, but it strikes deeper than pain. I can even make your own blood feel like it’s boiling... if I want."

Mozrael growled and lunged forward, her flames coming together to form a blade that struck through the currents, but her target shimmered and disappeared.

Another illusion.

The real Lynnor stood off to the side, watching with a tilted head.

"You’re swinging at ghosts," she taunted, raising a hand.

The wind around Mozrael twisted, and suddenly it felt like invisible arms were clutching her wrists, her shoulders, her throat.

She slashed wildly, crying out, but no one was there.

"You see?" Lynnor murmured. "The air itself listens to me. I don’t need to trap you in a cage. Everywhere is a cage." She released Mozrael.

Mozrael steadied herself, pushing out a breath. "You won’t win."

"I already have." Lynnor’s palm opened—and the air shimmered orange. Heat surged through it until fire danced in her hand, forged not from flame, but pure vibration. "You see, I am very strong. Well, you’re also strong, but not strong enough. You don’t even understand your own power."

She hurled the false fire. Mozrael leapt away, but the flame split into thin, piercing beams mid-air, like lances. One grazed her side, causing pain to flare in her body. It burned.

Lynnor’s voice cut through: "If you can’t even understand how you’re losing, how will you ever win?"

Mozrael’s rage boiled. She surged forward, casting flames from her blade. Lynnor matched her each time—deflecting, phasing, letting vibration-laced air push her off course.

Then, Lynnor darted toward Aramith’s limp body.

"No—!" Mozrael cried, shifting her footing to intercept, but Lynnor was already there, lifting Aramith like a ragdoll.

She cradled him with feigned gentleness, looking down at him almost fondly. "This boy," she said. "This is the one you’re burning yourself alive for?"

Mozrael froze.

"He’s broken," Lynnor continued, voice smooth. "You should see what’s left in that mind of his. A husk. A cracked soul. The kind that can’t be stitched back."

"Put him down," Mozrael whispered, voice trembling.

"Why?" Lynnor’s smile vanished. "Why waste your heart on someone who can’t even feel yours anymore? Is he worth your future? Your life?"

"...Yes."

Lynnor’s eyes narrowed.

"I don’t care what’s left of him. I just—" Mozrael’s voice cracked. "I won’t leave him. I’m supposed to keep him safe."

She lunged again, her flames doubling in size as she slashed.

Lynnor dodged this time, forced back—but her composure returned instantly. She clapped, slowly.

"Such resolve. Shame it’s wasted."

But Mozrael was reaching her limit. She was reaching the point where the beast might come out.

Mozrael’s body stiffened mid-swing. Inside her, in that yawning pit she always tried to avoid, it stirred.

Let me help you...You’re weak now. Let me take over.You want her to bleed, don’t you?

She gritted her teeth, hands trembling.

She’ll pay. I’ll make her scream.

Just give me the reins...

"No," she gasped aloud, clutching her head. "Not you. Not now!"

Lynnor watched, amused. "Fighting yourself, too now? Poor thing."

Mozrael’s form quivered, flames twisting around her, forming teeth, claws, something monstrous.

She dropped to one knee, fighting to suppress the dragon’s creeping voice.

One taste of vengeance. One taste of blood.

"I said no!"

She stabbed her blade into the ground, releasing a pulse of her own. fire exploded outward, creating a momentary dome.

Inside it, she gasped for breath, tears stinging her eyes.

"I can’t let it win... I can’t lose myself."

Scales started to appear on her arms, but they disappeared almost instantly. The beast gave up.

Then die trying.

When the dome collapsed, Mozrael emerged, barely holding herself upright, her blade trembling, her body quaking.

Lynnor descended slowly, this time walking toward her.

"I’m surprised you’re still standing. I admire the delusion."

She raised one arm and vibrated the air into a bladed crescent of shimmering light.

Mozrael raised her blade to block, but was too late.

The crescent shattered her guard, slicing through the remaining strength she had. She hit the ground, hard, eyes wide and burning.

Lynnor stood above her.

"You didn’t lose because you were weak," she whispered. "You lost because you never understood what you were fighting for."

Mozrael lay in the dirt, bleeding, broken. Her fingers twitched toward Aramith, who lay motionless.

Lynnor crouched beside her, voice a hush just loud enough to pierce Mozrael’s fading consciousness. "You fought with fire and fury... but never with clarity. That’s why you’ll always burn alone." She leaned closer, brushing a finger beneath Mozrael’s chin.

"And even if you survive this cruelty, you’ll still have to live with knowing...you weren’t enough."

Lynnor’s gaze lingered on Mozrael, then shifted to Aramith. Her expression didn’t soften, but there was something unreadable behind her eyes. A flicker of duty, maybe. Or something crueler, more twisted.

"Tch. And yet... I still have to care for you two. I hate this."

She turned, walking toward Aramith’s still form. With an effortless motion, she hoisted him over her shoulder, his head lolling limp against her.

Mozrael blinked, her vision blurring. Every breath tasted like ash. She tried to speak, to scream, to move, but her body refused.

The last thing she saw was Lynnor approaching her now, the boy in her arms, and then, everything went black.