A low hum pulsed beneath the church's floorboards, like the world was melting away. Shadows flickered in the corners. The glow from Marisol's cocoon pulsed gently in rhythm—slow, steady, alive.
Carlos didn't move at first. He just stood there, back straight, smile gone.
Carlos's brow furrowed, his stance still but questioning. "How did you—"
Lila stepped forward, sword raised, feet sliding into a guard Carlos didn't recognize.
"I picked up a few tricks while trapped by the Core," she said, voice steady.
Her blade dipped—purposefully imperfect.
"Good for me," she added, tightening her grip, "that one of the other Lilas was a Joachim Meyer practitioner."
She circled him slightly, eyes locked. "We're similar, Carlos… but I'm not leaning on someone else's power."
Carlos tilted his head, smirking with disdain. "Are you hearing yourself? You don't even see the irony in what you just said."
Lila scoffed but didn't deny it.
Carlos's grin widened, venom lining his teeth.
"Your friends are drawing on that reject's leftovers," he sneered, nodding toward Eri's collapsed form. "But you? Your power doesn't come from scars or memory."
He stepped closer.
"It's coming from that little bundle of joy in your belly."
Lila clenched her teeth, taking in a breath. Shadows swirled protectively at her heels. Her grip shifted.
"No," she snapped. "What I carry is mine. The Core's power is a flicker—this is what's left after I burned through the worst of it. I carved it into something better."
Carlos raised an eyebrow, then gave a slow, chilling laugh.
"You forged nothing. You're just the sheath."
He lunged.
Lila braced for the blow—but something twisted in the air. A swirling vortex of shadow opened in front of her stomach, devouring Carlos's fist mid-punch.
The flesh peeled from his knuckles, bone flashing raw.
Carlos yanked his hand back, snarling.
"There it is," he hissed, eyes blazing. "I knew it."
Lila flinched—too late.
Carlos's backhand caught her across the jaw, sending her skidding across the stone.
She hit the ground hard, arms instinctively curling around her stomach. Tears streamed down her face, fear crackling in her voice.
"No… you're wrong," she whispered, trembling. "He has to be wrong. You're safe… you have to be. "
Aiden stirred. One hand clawed toward Carlos's boot, a flicker of light forming into a dagger.
He thrust upward—aiming for the heel.
The blade shattered like sand on contact.
Carlos stomped down.
A sickening crunch echoed as his boot pinned Aiden's chest to the floor.
"I could smell it from the moment we met," Carlos said, voice low, almost tender. "The Core was all over her. Like perfume. So tell me—what kind of miracle guards its host like that?"
He twisted his heel. Aiden choked.
Lila sobbed openly now, curled tight as if she could shield the unborn with her own ribs.
Across the room, Rowan stirred. Blood painted her temple, but her eyes burned sharp.
She stood.
"Rowan, stop," Phoebe's voice warned in her mind. "You step into this fight—you die. That's not being strong. I taught you better than this."
"I'm already in it," Rowan hissed. "So stop mocking me. If you're my darkness, then help me. I'll listen. I'll fight. But not alone."
Silence.
Then—Phoebe's voice, calm, warm, unwavering.
"I'm not your darkness, Rowan. You know who I am."
Rowan inhaled, grounding her stance, weapon vibrating in her grip like a living heartbeat.
She adjusted, eyes flicking to Aiden, to Lila. Her body moved—not just with rage, but with purpose. She followed Phoebe's cues like a fighter syncing with a coach. Like muscle memory pulled from two lifetimes.
Carlos came in fast.
Rowan twisted aside, her rope-dart flashing out—only for Carlos to parry with his cane, the tip scraping sparks off the stone. He lunged again, and Rowan blocked, but her stance was sloppy, her arms trembling under the weight of the blow.
Ice laced up her fingers again. Her wrists ached.
She stumbled back, breathing hard, vision swimming.
"Focus," Phoebe's voice murmured in her ear—not cruel, not mocking, just firm. "Don't muscle through it. Feel it."
Carlos jabbed low—Rowan barely sidestepped, the cane grazing her ribs.
She countered—sloppy.
The rope snagged awkwardly and snapped back, nearly striking her shoulder.
"Again," Phoebe said, quieter now. "You're not holding a weapon. You're holding me. Stop fighting it."
Rowan's breath hitched.
Carlos twirled the cane with a sharp grin. "Done already?"
Rowan slid back into her stance—but this time, her grip loosened. She let the rope dart breathe between her fingers. She shifted her feet, not like a warrior bearing weight—but like a dancer anticipating rhythm.
Carlos struck.
She moved—not against him, but around him.
The rope snapped up and around, deflecting his thrust. Her body twisted with the cord, counterbalancing its spin like she'd rehearsed it for years. The frozen claw hissed across Carlos's shoulder, drawing a line of frost across his coat.
His grin faltered.
Rowan exhaled slowly.
Carlos turned, surprised by the steadiness in her steps.
"You don't get it," he growled. "You're on borrowed time. I can do this all day."
His cane shot toward Lila's limp form—but Rowan intercepted, her blade flashing bright, parrying him away.
"You won't touch them again."
Her staff shifted—heat flaring down the shaft as the flame pulsed once. The cold on her arms retreated, not by force, but by flow.
"I hear you," she whispered.
She rolled her shoulders, turned with the next blow, and used the cane's momentum to spin behind Carlos—shifting her spear back, whipping the dart around his ankles. It caught fast.
Carlos went to swing down—but Rowan was already there, staff igniting as she blocked his strike, her form low and grounded, like roots finding purchase.
Phoebe's voice came again—quieter now. Not instruction. Not correction.
Just presence.
Rowan smiled—bloody, breathless, alive.
"I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner," she muttered as she surged forward. "You've been here by my side this whole time."
And this time, when she moved, there was no drag. No frost. No pain.
Only rhythm.
Only fire.
"That's more like it…" Carlos muttered. His eyes narrowed at the gleam behind hers.
"Looks like you're finally taking this seriously. And you're actually starting to look like you could kill me."
Carlos snarled, striking again—but Rowan met him blow for blow, holding her ground.
Behind her, the flaming staff cast a wide, protective aura—healing Aiden's broken form, shielding Lila, even cradling Eri in flickers of warmth.
Welcome back, Phoebe, Rowan thought, the warmth coiling through her chest like a steady ember.
We've got a lot to talk about… but right now, help me save my family.
She was barely standing. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
But she refused to fall.
Carlos lunged again—
With a sharp pull, Rowan yanked him forward, the rope-dart snapping around his wrist, freezing it instantly.
She pivoted.
Her boot slammed into his ribs with a brutal roundhouse.
And as Carlos staggered back, the dire wolf leapt. The baryonyx struck low.
The unicorn reared with a metallic screech.
Carlos dropped to one knee, snarling, shadows leaking from the cracks in his body like smoke from shattered glass.
And at the center of it all, Marisol's sphere pulsed brighter—her heartbeat syncing with theirs.