The world narrowed to fire and shadow.

  Kael’Zareth loomed above Arin, vast and terrible, its horns splitting the red sky.

  “You were meant to free me,” the demon said.

  “I was meant to choose,” Arin replied.

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  The mark on his wrist ignited brighter than ever before—white now, not red.

  He could see the fracture clearly.

  At the center of the demon’s chest, beneath obsidian armor and flame, pulsed a tear in reality—the wound where the Veil once anchored its prison.

  To seal it required a living lock.

  To close it required surrender.

  “You would bind yourself?” Kael’Zareth asked.

  “Yes.”

  Arin lifted Kael’s blade.

  And ran.