Zayn Chaos
The shadows weren’t just cold; they were an absence of everything. They tasted like iron and smelled like the damp earth of a fresh grave. As they climbed Greg’s throat, muffling his desperate cries, the center path began to bleed a golden, sickly light, a siren call that promised Aila was just beyond the veil.
"Zayn!" Kyros’s voice sounded miles away, though he was right beside me, straining against the darkness to keep a grip on Greg’s shoulder. "He’s slipping! If the shadows take him, the path closes!"
The grove didn’t want our strength. It wanted our surrender.
I looked at Greg… the man who had raised the woman I loved, the warrior who was being reduced to a shell by the very thing he thought he could outmuscle. If I stepped into those shadows to pull him out, I was val
