The portal shimmered like a tear in the fabric of the world—an arched doorway of light carved from moonstone and raw magic. Wind howled around it, not from the earth but from the very essence of the spirit realm pulling at the edges of reality.
Aria stood before it, her long silver hair whipping around her shoulders, her eyes glowing faintly with the remnants of her storm-born grief. Behind her, Rowan approached with slow, deliberate steps, his jaw tense.
"You don't have to do this," he said, voice hushed.
She didn't turn around. "Yes, I do."
Rowan exhaled hard. "Then let me go in your place."
"No," she said. "You're needed here. If I don't come back…"
He reached for her arm, his grip gentle but firm. "Don't finish that sentence."
Aria turned to him, eyes full of the storm she was trying to tame. "Someone has to go. Caleb gave himself to save me. I can't let that be the end of his story."
Rowan searched her face. "You still love him."
