The summit was shrouded in a heavy, deathly stillness. Vaelora stood rigid, her breath hitching in her chest. The jagged shadow-blade that Draeven had driven into her side earlier was still embedded deep, its cold, corrupted steel draining her warmth. But she ignored the searing agony. She looked down at Draeven, who was pinned to the altar, his dark essence flickering like a candle in a gale.
Draeven struggled, his hands clawing at the Star Fire Sword embedded in his chest. "You... you think this ends it?" he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on stone. "I am the shadow that lingers... I am the night that never ends..."
"The night is over," Vaelora whispered.
She gathered every remaining spark of her life force—every memory of her home, every drop of her royal blood, and every ounce of love she held for the broken man lying behind her. Her hands trembled, not from fear, but from the immense weight of the celestial power coursing through the sword.
Draeven tried to lash out with one final, desperate burst of dark magic, but the Star Fire Sword pulsed with a blinding, rhythmic light that paralyzed his very soul.
With a scream that echoed across the entire continent, Vaelora swung the blade in a clean, absolute arc. The air whistled as the blue fire separated Draeven's head from his shoulders.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then, Draeven's body slumped, and his form began to disintegrate. It didn't fall to the ground like a corpse; it unraveled into a thick, swirling vortex of black, oily smoke. The shadows that had suffocated Solthera for years shrieked as they were pulled into the void of Draeven's demise.
The dark lord was gone. The hex was broken.
Vaelora stood over the dissipating cloud of smoke, her eyes fixed on the empty air where his face had been. She watched as the last remnants of the tyrant dissolved into nothingness, carried away by the mountain wind.
She turned, her movements slow and agonizing. Her side was slick with blood, the shadow-blade still piercing her, and her vision was swimming with dark spots. She took a step toward Azeal, who lay just a few feet away, his chest barely rising.
"Azeal..." she breathed, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.
She reached out a hand, but her strength reached its limit. The Star Fire Sword clattered to the ice, its blue glow fading to a dull, dying ember. As the darkness of the world receded, Vaelora's own strength failed. She swayed, her knees giving way, and she collapsed beside him, her final mission accomplished.