Chapter 45 The Red Choice

Fynn POV The forest is a battlefield of screams and shadows, the red maw’s pulse a heartbeat that drowns out the chaos forms’ chant, its blood-red light spilling across the ground, not warm, not cruel, but *wild*, a call that shakes my bones and splits my soul. Morgan’s pulse flickers under my fingers, faint, fading, his silver eyes locked on mine, pleading, fighting to stay, and I clutch him, my tears mixing with his blood, my gold light gone, the black flicker a raging fire in my chest, betraying me, pulling me toward the forms—green-veined, gold-eyed, their hands outstretched, their voices a relentless tide: “Warden, you are ours.”