Graydon stood on the battlefield, the scent of blood and magic thick in the air. The Crone lay defeated, her twisted form dissolving into the earth. But Graydon's heart ached for the loss they had suffered. Elora, with her short-cropped hair and fierce determination, stood nearby, her wand still glowing faintly from the battle.
"Graydon," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "We did it."
He nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from her. "But at what cost?"
Elora's fingers brushed against the broken staff that lay at her feet. Cherlindrea's Wand, shattered in the final clash with the Crone. It had been their last hope, and now it was nothing more than splintered wood.
"We'll find a way," Elora said, her voice determined. "We always do."
Graydon's heart swirled with conflicting emotions. He had been drawn to Elora from the moment they met, her magic sparking against his own. But he was the Dark Prince, the one who straddled the line between light and shadow. Could she ever truly accept him?
"Elora," he began, his voice rough. "There's something I need to tell you."
She tilted her head, waiting.
"I love you," he blurted out. "I have from the moment I saw you. But I'm not sure if—"
Elora silenced him with a kiss, her lips warm and insistent against his. For a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them. When she pulled back, her eyes were filled with determination.
"Graydon," she said, "we've faced Wyrm, Crone, and everything in between. Love is the least complicated thing in our lives right now."
He chuckled, relief flooding through him. "You're right. Love should be simple."
Elora's smile was soft. "Maybe not simple, but worth it."
