The strike fell.
And stopped.
It didn't clash against shields or stones. It hit something older. A cold burst of pressure folded the air inward, and in an instant, the Hollow King was flung backward. His armor cracked. His spear snapped in two. He crashed into the far wall with a sound like stone breaking underwater.
Luke collapsed. He could hardly breathe. His limbs were sluggish, ribs screaming, blood soaking his tunic. He coughed, blinked, and looked up—just in time to see someone step between him and the King.
She stood with her back to him. At first glance, it was Amara's silhouette—but the way she moved said otherwise. Her posture was unnaturally still. Not frozen—measured. Deliberate. Her silver-white hair shimmered faintly, the strands hovering slightly as if the air refused to touch her. Magic curled around her like smoke that didn't rise.
The air in the room changed. Denser. Colder. Luke didn't need to see her face to know this wasn't Amara. Not exactly. The presence pouring off her wasn't just strong—it was sovereign. The way the shadows bent around her, the way the Hollow King faltered—it was like the room itself had just realized it was being ruled again.
The King rose slowly. His runes pulsed wildly. His voice, no longer smooth, shook slightly. "You are sealed."
She tilted her head, and when she spoke, it was Amara's voice—but stripped of all its warmth. Smooth. Measured. Clear. It landed like steel on glass. "Not sealed enough."
The Hollow King lunged.
She raised one hand. That was all.
The spear in his grasp exploded into ash. The ground cracked under her feet. And when he reached her, she didn't flinch. She caught him mid-strike—not with a spell, but with a gesture. His runes began to flicker. His movements slowed.
She turned her wrist.
The King dropped to his knees, locked in place. The air shimmered. The runes on his mask pulsed once, then sputtered out.
She stepped forward, slow and silent. No sound followed her footsteps. Luke forced himself up onto one elbow. He felt like he was watching something ancient remember how to walk.
She stopped before the King, raised two fingers, and touched the cracked golden mask.
"No crown," she said. "No will."
The mask split. The Hollow King dissolved. Not in flames. Not in light. In silence.
The pieces of him fell apart like dust, and when the last trace vanished, she turned.
Luke watched her cross the floor. Her face was Amara's, but not. Her eyes glowed faint violet beneath the silver shimmer of her hair. She walked like someone used to being obeyed. She knelt in front of him, rested her palm on his chest. Her hand was warm.
He could barely speak. "Amara…?"
She looked at him for a long moment, then gave a faint smile. "Not quite."
And then she kissed him.
Not a question. Not a hesitation. It was calm. Absolute. Like a statement carved in stone.
When she pulled back, her touch remained steady on his collarbone. "You were going to die," she said, softly. "I didn't want that."
He blinked. "Who are you?"
She sat beside him now, hands resting on her knees. Her expression didn't change. "I'm Seraphyne. I was someone else before Amara ever opened her eyes."
Luke said nothing. He didn't interrupt.
"I escaped," she continued. "Barely. When the world burned, I tore free from it—but I was too weak. I couldn't keep myself whole. I broke. Part of me faded. The rest… became Amara. She isn't a mask. She's what survived."
Luke looked at her carefully. "Then what are you?"
"The part that remembers," she said. "The part that wasn't allowed to die. I sleep inside her now. Deep. Quiet. I don't wake unless I'm needed. Unless she's dying… or unless someone she cares for is."
He didn't answer. But he didn't look away.
"You woke up because of me," he said eventually.
"Indeed, I did."
He looked at her carefully. "You kissed me."
Seraphyne didn't blink. "I did."
There was a pause.
He hesitated, searching her face. "Why?"
She was quiet for a moment, eyes steady on his. "Because part of me remembered you mattered."
Luke swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. "She'll remember?"
"She will," Seraphyne said.
The magic in her skin had already begun to dim. Her shoulders lowered slightly. The violet-red in her eyes flickered. She blinked once, slow.
Then Amara opened her eyes.
And looked at him..