The icy water clawed at Sabir, a relentless force pulling him downward as he fought to keep Elektra afloat. Her body hung heavy in his arms, an unresponsive weight that made every movement a battle. The water’s chill seeped into his bones. But it was the look on her face—or lack thereof—that truly shook him.


    Elektra’s usually fiery expression was absent, replaced by something dull and distant. Her eyes, which normally burned with defiance, stared blankly past him, as though the fight had been drained from her entirely. Her arms dangled lifelessly, and her head lolled against his shoulder like she was already gone.


    Sabir’s teeth clenched, his jaw tightening against the rising tide of frustration. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He’d dreamed of Elektra’s defeat—imagined it a thousand times. In the quiet hours of the night, he’d pictured her face twisted in failure, her pride shattered, her arrogance finally brought low. He’d thought it would feel like victory, like justice.


    But this? This was nothing like he’d imagined.


    Seeing her like this—broken, silent, and utterly devoid of the will that made her who she was—filled him with something far worse than satisfaction. It was hollow. It was wrong.


    She wasn’t even trying.


    That thought sent a fresh surge of anger through him, sharp and bitter. Elektra wasn’t supposed to give up. She wasn’t supposed to surrender to anything, let alone her own despair. She was supposed to fight, to snarl and claw her way back up, to refuse to let the world win. That was who she was. That was the Elektra he knew.


    But here she was, limp in his arms, letting the water take her. And for the first time, Sabir realized just how much he hated it. Not her defeat. Not her weakness. But the emptiness of it all.


    “Elektra!” he shouted, his voice breaking as he kicked harder against the current. The water pressed against him, biting into his skin, but he refused to let go. “Damn it, fight! Don’t you dare give up!”


    She didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch.


    The frustration twisted into something deeper—something raw and unnameable. He wanted to shake her, to scream at her, to demand that she snap out of it. But all he could do was keep kicking, keep holding her above the surface, keep fighting when she wouldn’t.


    “Elektra! Stay with me!” Sabir shouted, his voice ragged as the cold gnawed at his throat. He kicked desperately, his arms burning as he tried to keep them both afloat.


    Above, he saw Maize leaning over the bridge’s side, her face pale and streaked with blood. “Help!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “We’re down here!”


    Maize’s hand fumbled at her waist before she pulled out one of her beans. Her sharp eyes narrowed, and Sabir caught the faint glow of her Esper powers activating. With a fluid motion, she threw the bean into the water.


    A moment of stillness passed. Then, the water around them churned violently as the bean sprouted. A thick, green vine erupted, twisting and coiling like a serpent. It shot toward them, its surface rough but sturdy.


    “Grab it!” Maize yelled, her voice strained.


    Sabir clenched his teeth, his arms screaming in protest as he wrapped one hand around the vine while clutching Elektra with the other. The vine trembled, its surface crackling faintly with Maize’s Esper energy. Elektra dangled lifelessly in his grasp, her head lolling against his shoulder.


    “Hold on!” Maize shouted again.


    Sabir let out a strained grunt as he shifted his grip on Elektra, his arms burning with the effort of keeping her head above the water. She was heavier than he’d anticipated—her body dead weight in his hold, unresponsive and cold. But he clenched his jaw and forced himself to keep going. The river’s current fought him every step of the way, tugging at his legs like grasping hands eager to pull him under.


    Every stroke forward felt slower than the last, the icy water draining the strength from his limbs. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as his lungs burned from the exertion. The current swirled violently around him, the waves slapping against his face as if mocking his struggle. It wasn’t just the weight of Elektra dragging him down—it was the despair she seemed to radiate, seeping into him like the freezing water that soaked through his clothes.


    Above them, Maize strained against the vine, her boots digging into the slick surface of the bridge for leverage. She leaned back with her full weight; her knuckles white as they gripped the thick, spiraling plant she had summoned. Her face was pale, smeared with dirt and streaked with sweat, her lips pressed into a grim line of determination.


    Blood trickled down her arm, dark rivulets running from a deep bite mark just above her elbow. The wound glistened under the harsh sunlight, the edges of the torn flesh raw and swollen. Her fingers trembled, not from fear but from the sheer effort of holding the vine steady.


    Sabir caught glimpses of her struggle through the mist of water and exhaustion clouding his vision. The sight of her bleeding arm made his stomach churn, but there was no time for concern. Maize didn’t falter, even as the pain must have been screaming through her body. Her focus was locked entirely on the vine, on pulling them to safety.


    “Hold on!” she shouted, her voice strained but unwavering. The vine jerked upward slightly, a small but vital gain in their uphill battle.


    Sabir adjusted his grip on Elektra again, her soaked hair clinging to his arm like dead weeds. “I’m trying!” he barked back, his voice hoarse with effort. His feet kicked against the water, searching for any semblance of stability in the churning depths. But there was none. Just the endless, cold void pulling him down.


    He cast a glance up at Maize, watching her dig in deeper, her boots skidding on the slick stone of the bridge. Blood smeared the ground beneath her, trailing from the open wound that refused to stop bleeding. Behind her, Warren stepped closer, his own battered body moving stiffly as he reached out to help. Their struggles mirrored his own—a desperate fight to hold on, to not give in to the unrelenting forces threatening to tear them apart.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Behind her, Warren staggered forward, his body battered and his face pale. “Let me help,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. He grabbed the vine alongside her, their hands brushing for a brief second. Maize stiffened at the contact, but she didn’t pull away.


    “Push harder,” Warren urged, his breath warm against her cheek.


    Maize glanced at him, their faces close enough that their cheeks brushed for a moment. The connection was fleeting, yet it sent a jolt through her, not unlike the charge of her own powers. Warren met her gaze, his usual scowl replaced by something softer, something almost tender.


    “I’m pulling. You better not let go,” she whispered, her tone lighter despite the tension.


    “Never,” Warren replied. His hands tightened on the vine, and together, they heaved, the effort forcing their bodies closer as they worked in tandem.


    Below, Sabir fought against Elektra’s weight, each inch of the climb feeling like a mile. His fingers burned as he clung to the vine, the rough surface biting into his palms. Elektra’s head lolled again, and he gritted his teeth.


    “Come on,” Sabir muttered, his voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare give up on them.”


    But Elektra didn’t respond, her silence gnawing at him.


    Sabir’s body screamed in protest, every muscle locking in defiance as if it were rebelling against the very act of continuing. The cold water around him was merciless, seeping into his bones and draining what little warmth he had left. The chill cut through him like a thousand needles, numbing his skin and leaving his limbs feeling as though they were made of lead. His lungs burned with each breath, the air thick and suffocating, the weight of the water pressing in from all sides. Every movement felt sluggish, as though he were fighting through molasses, and his body trembled uncontrollably from the strain.


    His aura reserves were nearly depleted—he could feel it, the ebbing of the energy that had once been a lifeline, now flickering like the last ember of a dying fire. It was as if his very essence was leaking out, slipping away with each desperate attempt to hold himself together. The force that had once given him power, that had enabled him to stand tall in the face of impossible odds, was almost gone. The connection to his aura was faint now, a distant whisper in his mind, unable to provide the strength he so desperately needed.


    A bitter thought clawed its way into his consciousness, cold and unforgiving, shattering whatever resolve he had left. He couldn’t do this. The understanding hit him like a blow to the chest, and the weight of it threatened to crush him under its enormity. His legs trembled beneath him, threatening to give way, and he staggered slightly, his vision blurring at the edges. The images around him grew faint, distorted by the exhaustion and despair that clung to him like a second skin. It wasn’t just the physical strain—no; it was the knowledge that despite everything, despite the sacrifices and the promises, he was powerless in this moment.


    In his mind, the faces of those he had failed flickered—his sister, those he loved, the people he swore to protect. And now, this. This final, crushing realization. He couldn’t save her.


    Then something inside him snapped. A surge of resolve—or perhaps desperation—pushed him forward. He drew on every ounce of aura he had left, his body trembling as he channeled it. With a guttural roar, he hurled Elektra upward, her body rocketing toward the bridge.


    Elektra’s eyes widened in shock as she felt herself soaring through the air, the wind whipping past her face. For a fleeting moment, she thought Sabir had let her go. But she landed roughly on the bridge, her form rolling to a stop as the vine quivered beneath her.


    Sabir sagged against the vine, his body heavy and uncooperative, his breath ragged as it rattled in his chest. The air felt impossibly thick, and each inhalation was a struggle, his lungs burning as they fought for oxygen. His vision wavered, the world around him becoming a haze of indistinct shapes and muted colors. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him like an anchor, threatening to pull him under. His arms, weak and trembling from the strain, felt like they were made of stone, barely responding to the desperate signals from his brain. Every part of him screamed to surrender, to succumb to the overwhelming fatigue that clawed at the edges of his mind, but he forced his eyes back to the vine in front of him, focusing on the singular task at hand.


    His fingers, slick with sweat and dirt, wrapped around the vine with a grip that seemed to weaken with each passing second. He could feel the sting of his palms as they slid against the rough surface, raw from the constant friction. His body protested every move, muscles aching and seizing in protest, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to let himself falter. His aura was a faint whisper in the back of his mind, nearly gone, a once-vibrant force that now felt as distant as a forgotten dream. The strength that had powered him through countless challenges was gone, leaving him with nothing but his sheer will to push forward.


    Each movement was agony, each pull of his arms sending a jolt of pain through his shoulders and chest. His legs felt like they might buckle beneath him at any moment. Despite that, he didn’t stop. His surroundings seemed to tilt and shift, but he refused to look away from his goal. He had no choice but to keep climbing. The rough vine beneath his hands felt like a lifeline—fragile, unreliable, but the only thing keeping him from falling into the abyss. Every inch gained felt like an eternity, each moment of progress a victory over his own body’s rebellion.


    His muscles burned, the strain of his exertion threatening to break him, but his resolve held strong. His vision blurred again, the edges of his sight darkening as his body teetered on the edge of collapse, but the thought of giving up—of failing—was unbearable. No, he thought, fighting back the wave of dizziness threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t stop now. Not when there was still a chance, not when he could still climb.


    By the time he reached the bridge, his limbs felt like lead. He collapsed onto the stone, gasping for air, his chest heaving with the effort. The world spun around him, but he forced himself to sit up, his gaze locking onto Elektra.


    She was sitting up now, her eyes wild. Blood streaked her arms, and her usual fiery presence seemed dulled. But when she turned to him, her expression was anything but grateful.


    “Why?” she screamed, her voice cracking with anger. “Why the hell did you save me?”


    Sabir didn’t answer. He forced his legs under him, his entire body protesting as he stood. Ignoring the pain, ignoring the weight of Elektra’s glare, he staggered past her.


    When he reached Warren, he paused, his breath ragged. “I lost my sister,” Sabir muttered, his voice low but sharp. “Try not to lose yours. Even if she’s a bitch.”


    Warren’s lips parted as though he wanted to respond, but no words came. A single tear rolled down his cheek, unnoticed until it hit the bloodied ground below.


    He didn’t just hate her.


    The truth was more complicated, tangled in a mesh of jealousy and resentment. Elektra had always been stronger, faster, more determined. She was everything he wanted to be—and everything he feared he couldn’t become. But seeing her almost die, seeing her give up, had torn something loose inside him.


    He didn’t have to like her to know that losing her would decrease their chances of survival.


    Sabir didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked toward Zabo, who was slumped near the edge of the bridge.


    “You all good?” Zabo rasped, his voice weak but tinged with humor.


    “No,” Sabir replied flatly, his exhaustion bleeding into the single word. He extended a hand, his palm grimy and bloodied.


    Zabo stared at it for a moment before shrugging. “Well, as long as you’re on your feet and moving.” He grabbed Sabir’s hand, and with a grunt, they pulled each other upright.


    The two leaned against each other, their battered bodies barely holding them up as they limped forward. Each step was a struggle, but neither of them stopped.


    The other side of the bridge loomed ahead, shadowed and unknown. It wasn’t salvation. It wasn’t safety. But it was a step forward.


    And for now, that was enough.