The dawn shattered softly against the chamber windows, pale light spilling through the cracks in the shutters. For a fragile moment, Ryon remained still, his arm draped over Lyria's waist, her warmth pressed against him like the last tether holding him to peace. Her breath rose and fell steadily, lips parted slightly, lashes brushing against her cheeks. She slept like someone who had stolen safety from a world determined to deny it.

Ryon almost let himself drift with her, to sink into the rhythm of her body against his. Almost.

The system's whisper came first—low, dissonant, a thread winding through his half-dream.

"Time expires. The vow binds tighter. Choices demand blood."

His eyes snapped open. For a moment he thought it was still in his head, that echo of a voice no one else could hear. But then the shutters rattled violently, struck by the wind outside, and the spell of quiet was broken.

Bootsteps thundered in the hall. Voices rose—urgent, clipped. Someone pounded on the heavy oak door.

"My lord—urgent tidings!"

Lyria stirred. Her body shifted beneath his arm, eyes fluttering open, her pupils tightening to the half-light. She blinked, dazed for only a heartbeat, before instinct woke with her. Her body went tense, and her fingers clutched at the sheets, already bracing against whatever storm clawed at their sanctuary.

Ryon sat up, his chest bare, muscles tight with a tension he couldn't shake. He dragged in a deep breath, then swung his legs to the floor, the cool stone biting into his feet. He reached for his tunic where it lay across a chair. Lyria rose as well, the sheet slipping from her shoulders, her hair tumbling in wild, dark waves around her face. Her robe lay abandoned nearby, and she clutched it quickly against her body, though her posture carried no shame—only readiness.

The pounding at the door grew more frantic.

Ryon crossed the chamber and pulled it open. One of his captains stood there, face pale, sweat beading his brow despite the chill. His armor was half-fastened, his hair sticking damply to his forehead.

"The northern vanguard—" the man gasped, panting. "They've broken the line at Hollow Pass. Scouts report their banners moving faster than expected. They could be upon us within a day."

Ryon's jaw tightened, but before he could reply, the system's voice uncoiled again, slithering through the man's words like venom:

"A storm cannot be delayed. Engagement is demanded. To falter is to break oath."

The captain didn't hear it. Only Ryon did.

He drew in a sharp breath, forcing the system's whisper down into the marrow of his bones. "Call the council of commanders. Ready the legions. Every able body."

The man bowed quickly, relief and dread mingling on his face, and hurried off.

Behind him, Lyria's voice broke the silence. "So it begins."

Ryon turned. She stood tall despite the fragile robe clutched at her breast, her hair disheveled from sleep, her lips still tinted from their last kiss. She looked like a woman who had given everything she had to a fleeting moment of peace, and now steeled herself to surrender it.

"You promised me," she said quietly, and though her tone was steady, her hands trembled where they held the fabric closed.

"I remember." His voice was iron wrapped in velvet.

Her lips parted, as though she wanted to say more, but she closed them, searching his face instead. For a long moment, their gazes locked, the air heavy with everything unspoken—fear, longing, the fragile bond they had tried to carve out of fire and ruin.

The sounds beyond the chamber grew louder: clashing steel, the bark of orders, the snarl of war hounds being leashed. The world pressed harder with each heartbeat.

Ryon crossed the distance between them. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along the soft line of her skin. "This isn't the end," he murmured, though even as he spoke, doubt gnawed at the edges of the words. Was he reassuring her—or himself?

Her eyes glistened, but she didn't break. She leaned into his palm for a fleeting second, as though drawing strength from him, then pulled away with a grace that was almost painful. "Then let us make it through this day, Ryon. Just one day more."

He nodded once. "One day more."

When he left the chamber, she followed him into the hall. Their steps fell in sync, and though their hands didn't touch, the air between them was thick with that unspoken tether. Together, they walked into the storm.

The courtyard roared with motion. Soldiers tightened straps, fastened helms, sharpened blades. Squads lined up for inspection, the clang of steel echoing against the walls. Smoke curled from braziers as mages etched protective wards across the stones. The acrid tang of oil filled the air, mingling with the raw scent of horses already bridled for the march.

Ryon moved through them like a blade through fog. His presence cut chaos into order. Men and women straightened as he passed, their fatigue swept aside by the weight of his gaze. Whispers followed him, rippling like a current: The Warlock. The South's flame. The oath-bearer.

The system pulsed again, louder now, threaded through every heartbeat.

"The covenant binds. The storm demands blood. The balance tilts."

Ryon clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to snarl at the disembodied voice. The system was never quiet for long—it knew exactly when to speak, when to coil around his choices and whisper its demands until his will burned raw.

He lifted his voice, sharp and commanding. "Form ranks at the southern gate! Mages to the walls, cavalry at the ready. We march to meet them before they strike us here!"

The soldiers roared in response, their voices rising like a tide.

Amidst the clamor, Lyria drifted to his side. Her robe had been exchanged for armor, plates buckled swiftly over leather, her sword belted at her hip. Her hair was bound now, her face sharpened into the mask of a warrior-princess. But for just a breath, she allowed her hand to brush against his. It was quick, hidden, nothing more than the whisper of skin on skin—yet it anchored him more deeply than any vow or system command.

He turned slightly, catching her eyes. She didn't smile. She didn't need to. Her gaze said everything: I am here. With you.

The storm had come.

And this time, they would face it together.