Ashwen crashed through the final gate with a grunt, splinters slicing into her arms. She barely noticed the blood. Rue was a few steps behind her, Groat clinking urgently inside her jacket. Monsieur Loup, hat tilted precariously over one eye, muttered curses in a mix of French and pure nonsense.
Before them, the Horologium District lay exposed — a graveyard of broken clock towers and ruined machinery. Time itself felt frayed here; every step forward seemed to echo three steps behind.
Ashwen spotted him immediately — Ilyan, stumbling through the shattered plaza, his coat torn, his hands clutching something close to his chest.
"Ilyan!" she screamed.
His head snapped up. Relief flashed across his face. He ran toward them.
And then the air cracked open.
A rippling, jagged portal bloomed behind him, swallowing the broken floorboards and shattered glass as it expanded. It was messy, unstable — not a portal meant for travel, but for extraction.
Ashwen didn't hesitate. She sprinted faster, ignoring Rue's shout behind her.
Ilyan reached out, hand stretched wide, so close she could see the dirt under his fingernails.
Ashwen's fingers brushed his.
For a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then the portal surged, a sucking, violent force tearing them apart.
Ashwen screamed as she was thrown backward, landing hard on the fractured cobblestones.
Through the collapsing portal, she saw Ilyan — his face twisted in shock, in anger — as he vanished into the light.
Gone.
Just like that.
The world slammed shut with a noise like a slammed book.
Silence crashed over them.
Ashwen lay still for a moment, chest heaving. Rue stumbled over, wide-eyed, while Loup pulled himself up with a groan, dusting off his coat.
Groat gave a sad, metallic chime.
No one spoke.
Because there were no words.
Ashwen stood slowly, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were bloodless. She turned, scanning the broken district as if willing him to step back through.
"He's not dead," Rue said, her voice rough.
"No," Ashwen agreed, staring into the broken horizon. "But he's not here either."
Loup tapped the shattered stones thoughtfully with his cane. "The portal residue... it reeks of Ashreign."
Rue frowned. "Ashreign? That wasteland?"
Ashwen's eyes darkened. "If he's there, we'll find him."
The words tasted like iron in her mouth.
But even as she said them, she knew — this wasn't a rescue they could do together.Valeight was shifting again. The city didn't want them together anymore.
Already, paths were closing, doors vanishing.
Ashwen turned to the others. "We split. Search separately. Regroup when we have something."
Rue hesitated, then nodded sharply.Loup simply gave a lazy, theatrical bow. "À la guerre comme à la guerre, ma chère."
Groat buzzed quietly, sticking closer to Rue's side.
Ashwen took one last look at the ruined district — the place where they had lost him — and then without another word, disappeared into the mist.
The group fractured like the hands of a broken clock, each spinning off into different directions.
Somewhere, far from Valeight's rotting heart, Ilyan awoke beneath a blood-red sky.
Ashreign greeted him like an old friend.