“Nerys!”

Fayne cried out as she plunged after the Dark Sorceress. Her outstretched fingers missed the hem of her dress by inches.

“Nerys, stop!”

But the Lat’Nemele ducked around a giant tree bole, two steps out of reach. Her breath came in hitching sobs, her image glitched on the spot. The Darkness pulled at her without mercy, clawing at her skin, calling her back into the Betwixt. On a primal level, she fought it, knowing that if she went in again, she would never return.

In desperation, she pushed away from the gnarled trunk, resorting to the only option left open to her.

She ran.

Living streamers of shadow, hissing and spitting, pursued her as she fled across the dense forest floor. Fayne dashed after her, too, but didn’t manage ten strides at full throttle before she stopped, gasping. It had been a long time since she'd physically run, anywhere, and she clutched at her side to ward away a niggling stitch. Out of breath, she huffed at the ridiculousness of it as she watched Nerys pull away.

Rolling her shoulders, she gauged the direction of her flight and ported with a snort of impatience.

She came alongside Nerys from the inside of Betwixt, far faster than any Sorceress could run. She threw herself back out into the world, colliding hard with the Lat'Nemele and knocking her to the floor. They rolled across the carpet of pine needles, grappling until Fayne managed to pin Nerys down beneath her. Nerys fought like a wild cat, snarling in her desperation to escape. With an inhuman effort she launched Fayne off, but the Firekin recovered quickly and flung up a fiery cage around them both before Nerys could bolt once more.

Trapped, Nerys growled and backed against a tree, bristling and feral. Her eyes dripped black poison, her image wavered in and out of focus even as Fayne watched – as if something evil were stealing her very humanity. The Queen held up both hands and adopted as calm a tone as she could manage in the face of the snarling Sorceress.

“Nerys,” she whispered, “Darling, it’s me...”

Nerys panted, spasming on the spot, clawing at the tree behind her. The Darkness roared, whipping her black mane into flurries around her gaunt face. She cut a frightening figure, but Fayne kept up her soothing monotone, inching forward one slow step at a time.

“Nerys, it’s me… You’re alright, darling…”

Infinitesimally, she closed the distance. Nerys’ head whipped back and forth like a thing possessed, seeking an escape. But the bars of flame roared on all sides.

“Darling – darling!” Fayne pressed, “Look at me! Nerys, love, listen – look at me!”

Nerys, twitching, glitching, managed to affix her nightmare gaze on Fayne. She contorted, fighting the Darkness.

“That’s it, darling,” Fayne breathed as she realised she’d caught her attention at last. Gingerly, she pulled a pair of pearlescent shackles out from a fold of her dress and held them up for Nerys to see. “Look here, love, these are for you – okay? Let me help you, Nerys.”

Nerys pressed herself against the tree trunk behind her, agitated, trying to stay still and focus. The Darkness whipped around her, holding Fayne at bay.

“Let me help you, darling,” Fayne persisted, keeping her tone low and steady, “Remember, Nerys? It’s me, I will help you.”

Nerys whined, the sound escaping her lips on a tide of Darkness.

“You have to fight it,” Fayne urged. She swung the shackles like a metronome. “Let me help you, love.”

Nerys glitched, two inches to the left, and back again. Her image wavered, and the Darkness roiled. She clawed her fingers, fighting. Slowly, painfully, she forced out her trembling hands. Fayne closed the remaining distance in one smooth movement, shackled her with practised ease. She dodged away, and Nerys fell to her knees with a strangled cry.

Shadow-magic roared.

It swirled frantically, finding its claws thwarted as it tried to keep its hold. A tornado of dark screamed around her, consuming her. Nerys screamed with it, her head thrown back and her hands fisted in agony. The whirlwind thickened and rose upwards, pulling away. It rose higher, higher, tearing at her soul.

At last, it swirled into nothingness, winking out of existence. Nerys remained behind, crumpled in a shivering ball on the forest floor. Fayne swooped down, pulling the diminished woman into her arms. She held her tight, rocking and crooning. She stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head.

“Oh, darling! You’re alright, you’re alright…”

A sob tore from Nerys’ throat, hot tears fell with abandon. She flung her arms around the redhead’s neck, setting the shackles to jangling as she clung to her.

“I… lost control…” Her voice was harsh, strained. She shivered uncontrollably.

Her body spasmed still, but the violence of it had lessened. Fayne stroked between her shoulder blades, soothing her. Gradually, her breathing slowed, and her eyes returned to their warm amber shade. She sighed with quiet relief, but suddenly her thoughts constricted. She pushed back from Fayne as if she’d been burned; Fayne caught her wrists before she managed to pull free.

“I tried to kill you!” Nerys whispered, struggling against Fayne's grip. Her face was contorted with self-loathing, her mouth a hard, bitter line.

“But you didn’t, darling,” Fayne murmured, refusing to relinquish her hold.

“But I tried,” Nerys repeated, horror winding through her tone.

Fayne cupped her cheek with one bejewelled hand, and Nerys clung to her fingers.

“I forgive you,” Fayne said, quietly.

Nerys relented, nodding with a sigh. She slumped down into the safety of Fayne’s embrace, her consciousness waning. She was tired, so tired… Her head lolled against Fayne’s shoulder, and the Firekin murmured a spell to help lift her dead-weight. With magic’s assistance, she bundled Nerys into her arms. Holding her close and cradling her dark head against her chest, she gathered her magic and ported them home.

When Nerys woke next, it was sundown, though she gathered that by instinct rather than by fact. Wherever she was, she could feel that the energy of the sun was far away. She groaned and shifted, uncomfortable on the hard surface beneath her. She blinked, adjusting her vision to the dim light of crystal torches that lined the walls, and was confused to see that she was in a room hewn out of thick, milky stone. Flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing, she felt the hard presence of granite beneath her touch, and stiffened. Gathering herself, she tried to sit up.

And failed.

With growing alarm, she realised that she was tied down. She looked at the ceiling above her more carefully, and her whereabouts hit her in a rush. She knew this room – she was down in the Vaults, prone atop an altar. Immediately she clawed her hands, reaching for her magic, but she hit only a hollow echo. Upon her wrists, Shackles of Soul jingled, invalidating her power. She growled under her breath at her predicament, and pulled at the bindings with sheer physical strength instead. But she was not so strong without her magic singing through her veins, and she sank back against her granite cradle.

Thwarted, she paused to catch her breath and consider what to do.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sniff of disdain, and she whipped her head sideways in suspicious surprise. Her gaze lit upon an aged woman, hovering over a heckling cauldron. The nefarious black pot gurgled and belched ominous, mustard-coloured smoke.

“Galva!” Nerys hissed, recognising the ancient Witchkin, “Release me at once, crone!”

“I cannot,” Galva cackled, not looking up from her stirring. She measured obscure powders from tiny vials, adding them to the viscous contents of the iron pot.

“When the Queen hears about this-” Nerys growled, but she broke off as Galva chortled.

“The Queen?” the old woman hooted in her wispy, ancient voice. She glanced over to the far side of the room. “You mean, that Queen?”

Nerys swung her head the other way, to see Fayne standing with her arms folded and her jaw clenched as she leaned against the cold stone wall.

“Fayne! What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry, Nerys,” the Firekin said, shaking her fierce, fiery head. “Truly I am.”

Galva cackled quietly to herself, and Nerys’ eyes flashed to her as she tried to understand her predicament. She turned back to Fayne, and her expression darkened.

Her tone dropped to a low growl, and she strained at her shackles. “What is the meaning of this?”

“If there was another way, Nerys…” Fayne lamented, swooning against the wall, “But this is our only chance.”

“Chance for what?” Nerys pressed. Her fists were clenched, to stem her rising fury.

Galva cackled in Fayne’s stead. “A chance to save the world.” She came to hover over Nerys and pressed two gnarled fingers against the soft skin of her throat, feeling for her pulse. “You will be a hero, Lat’Nemele.”

“I have no wish to be a hero,” Nerys growled. She thrashed her head violently, and the aged Dreamkin relinquished her efforts to time her heartbeat. “Mark my words, witch, the moment this is over, you will be the first to die!”

But Galva smiled and seized her wrist with surprising dexterity. Nerys sucked in a furious breath as the old woman sliced her palm with a curved dagger, and Galva pressed a piece of cotton cloth to the wound to soak up the golden stain. Nerys tried to close her fist to prevent her from doing so, but to no avail – the cut was deep, and the blood flowed freely.

When the white cloth was gilt and sodden, Galva turned away, holding it out in front of herself like a glittering trophy. Gleeful, she dropped it into the cauldron, which sparked and frothed at the limit of spilling over. When the foam died back down to a dreadful simmer, Galva dipped a long, contorted shard of anerradite into the concoction. It discoloured in seconds, taking on a brown-grey hue shot through with sickly yellow strands.

The Dreamkin lifted it gingerly out again with a long pair of iron tongs, shaking off the thick, residual liquid. She placed it on a fresh piece of cloth to dry, and then turned to Fayne with a shallow bow.

“It is done, Majesty,” she rasped, “The rest is up to you.”

She gathered her things and made to leave, but not before pausing to whisper quietly in Nerys’ ear. “Consider this repayment, witch, for the murder of Asbeth Bal’Talanor.”

She threw her wispy white head back with a gurgling laugh and creaked from the room.

Fayne didn't hear her parting shot. She had stepped across to pick up the crystal dagger and turned now to Nerys with an impossible expression. Nerys stiffened her spine against the granite slab, staring at her with a hard, feral expression.

“Fayne… whatever that old crone has told you, it is a lie – a trick!”

But Fayne approached with measured steps, holding the dagger out with two hands. “It is not a trick, darling.”

The strange sadness in her voice gave Nerys pause.

Something was wrong – very wrong.

She eyed the dagger, and the still-simmering cauldron beyond, trying to place the spell. It didn’t feel familiar, but she was damned sure by Fayne’s expression that she wasn’t going to like how it worked. She tugged at her bonds again, feeling the first stirrings of helplessness. Wryly, she understood how Asbeth must have felt, and – not for the first time in her life – experienced a tinge of regret.

She stilled, raising her gaze. “I urge you to reconsider, dear,” she said, holding her voice perfectly reasonable. “You need me – I am your Guardian.”

Fayne sighed. “I know, darling – and I need you to stand as my shield one last time. The world is ending, and you are the only one who can stop it.”

Nerys’ eyes narrowed to slits as her memory stirred. She realised that she recognised the crystal shard, remembered the obscure magic it represented. She recoiled in horror.

“No! Fayne – don’t do this!”

A stray tear escaped Fayne’s long lashes. “Do you think this is easy for me, darling?”

“Fayne…” Nerys whispered, in the vain hope that hearing the consequences out loud might stay her hand, “The Fetters of Chaos will kill me…”

But Fayne’s green eyes turned hard as glass. “Left unchecked, Chaos will kill us all. I am the Queen, Nerys, I have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice! Choose me, as you promised you would! Leave Andoherra to its fate!”

“I cannot. I have worked too hard for this.”

Nerys fell silent, and her expression became icy. Fayne hesitated.

“I am sorry, darling,” she offered.

“You are not, dear,” Nerys returned softly. “You have never been sorry for anything in your life.” She lay back and stared at the ceiling. “Get it over with, then. But know this, you make a mortal enemy of me. There is a fine line between love and loathing, and you cross it irrevocably today. If I survive, I will kill you.”

Fayne's smile was rueful as she shook her head. “I want you to know, Nerys, I am grateful for your loyalty – and your love – all these years.”

Nerys stared doggedly at the polished stone above her. “You should have left me to die with my family at the Dawn Palace. Life with you has been nought but a misery.”

Fayne closed the remaining distance between them and came to a halt beside Nerys’ prone form. She raised the crystalline dagger, but Nerys turned her head and arrested her with a smouldering glare. Fayne faltered beneath the Lat’Nemele’s sudden detached curiosity.

“Are you truly so acrimonious that you couldn’t love me?” Nerys mused. “I have done all you asked of me – everything, without question, for nigh a century.”

A thoughtful frown creased Fayne’s smooth brow. “Indeed, darling, and you have succeeded admirably. But you should know, better than anyone else, that I have only one true love – and her name is Power.”

Nerys propped herself up on the back of her elbows. “Is that all you've loved about me, all these years...? Only the Power?”

Fayne’s expression shifted infinitesimally, but Nerys caught it, and sucked in her breath in preposterous realisation. She opened her mouth to protest the injustice, but Fayne leapt forward, plunging the dagger down to cut off her accusations.

She hit Nerys in the centre of her chest, pulled free of the cursed weapon as it burned her fingers. The shard waited there, lodged in the Lat’Nemele’s sternum, and Nerys’ words choked away as she stared down at it in agonised perplexity. Of its own accord, the fragment shuddered. It dove deep without warning, tearing a savage scream from Nerys’ lips. In seconds, the nefarious piece had disappeared. It burrowed down into the core of her being, leaving the Lat’Nemele a quaking, writhing mess atop the stone altar.

“Yes, darling, I loved your power,” Fayne admitted in a whisper to her convulsing form. She forced herself to watch as Nerys’ body bucked, and swallowed hard. “But… I never dreamed things would come to this.”

At length, Nerys’ wild thrashing quietened, and Fayne squared her shoulders. Swiftly, she reached over Nerys and unhooked the leather bonds pinning her down. Nerys still quivered, wavering on the very edge of consciousness, and Fayne released the pearly shackles last of all, freeing her magic. Nerys’ back arched, pulling a strangled gasp from her lungs, and she hovered above the altar for several long seconds. As she dropped back down, unconscious but breathing, Fayne lingered over her.

She pressed a kiss to the brunette’s damp forehead. “I did love you, darling… in my own way.”

With soft footsteps, she retreated. She did not look back at Nerys. Behind her, the discarded Sorceress lay deathly silent, fractured and alone. She teetered on the brink between life and death, a shade of her former glory – a wasted life, nought but a cursed vessel of Chaos.