Mira hovered above us, suspended in a storm of her own making. Her wings pulsed with a volatile fusion of Flame and shadow, fire and void. She was a storm—and at its heart, something fragile still flickered.
Her body was his weapon. But her soul? That was still hers.
I had to reach it before he crushed it.
“Mira!” I shouted again, forcing every ounce of strength I had into my voice. “This isn’t who you are! You’re not his puppet!”
She turned slowly, her silver eyes blank for a heartbeat. Then they flickered. A spark of pain. Of memory.
Of us.
But the Hollow King wasn’t about to let go.
“She belongs to me,” his voice thundered through her, reverberating in the stones beneath our feet. “She was made for this. Every moment she spent with you—all of it—was mine.”
I stepped forward, my
