Draeven Zareth's steps became heavy and rhythmic, echoing against the frozen stone of the summit. He felt the intoxicating surge of victory. He watched Vaelora collapse onto her knees, her Midnight Daggers lying shattered in the mud, her breath coming in ragged, broken gasps. To him, she was no longer a threat—she was a defeated girl, a bird with its wings clipped.
"Look at you, Princess," Draeven sneered, his face a grotesque mask of dried black blood and twisted ambition. "Your victory was nothing but a fleeting dream. And now, I will bury that dream in the dust of this mountain."
Draeven didn't even glance at her. He deemed her beneath his notice, a casualty of the coming silence. His entire focus shifted toward Azeal, who lay motionless in the mud just a few paces away. Draeven knew that as long as the Prince breathed, the spirit of Solthera remained undefeated.
"His journey ends here," Draeven growled, his voice vibrating with malevolent intent.
He raised his massive obsidian staff with both hands. At the tip of the weapon, a jagged, concentrated sphere of necrotic shadow-energy coalesced, pulsing like a dying heart. He positioned the staff directly over Azeal's prone form—a final, executioner's strike intended to sever the prince's head from his body.
Azeal, hovering on the precipice of unconsciousness, was completely unaware of the lethal blow descending from above.
Vaelora saw it, and her soul screamed. A surge of raw, desperate energy, fueled by pure protective instinct, flooded her broken body.
"NO!" Vaelora shrieked. It wasn't a plea for mercy; it was a war cry that seemed to rattle the very foundations of the mountain.
Draeven didn't hesitate for a heartbeat. With a cruel, triumphant grin, he channeled his remaining malice into his arms and slammed the staff downward.
Vaelora didn't have time to stand. She didn't have time to draw a weapon. She only had time to move. Ignoring the agony in her side and the exhaustion pulling at her limbs, she lunged forward, throwing her body into the space between the dark lord's weapon and her prince.
She was a blur of silver and gold, hurtling toward the shadow-staff, determined to become the final wall between Azeal and death.