Frost bit through Onyx’s leather boots, a sharp, stabbing ache that warned of rot.
Bitter air filled his lungs, tasting of dead copper and old dust.
Beside him, Xime let out a ragged breath that turned to instantly frozen mist between them.
Golden light sputtered at Xime's fingertips, weak and dying, struggling against the violet-tinted frost that climbed the temple walls.
Onyx spat a curse, watching the dark stone pillars of the solar temple succumb to the creeping ice.
Dark purple veins of the twilight rot pulsed within the frost, creeping closer to where they stood.
Every breath felt like swallowing shards of glass.
Shadows clung to the corners of the temple, but they were no longer his to command.
They were stiff, frozen into place by the unnatural twilight that had settled over Lightlark.
Xime shivered beside him, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck strained.
Wind howled through the cracked high windows of the temple, carrying the scent of dead pine and frozen ash.
Lightlark had once been a paradise of shifting seasons, but this twilight rot had frozen time itself.
Onyx pulled his leather cloak tighter around his shoulders, but the fabric offered no warmth against the magical freeze.
He remembered when the cold first arrived during the Great Eclipse, a sudden, shocking drop in temperature that had caught them all off guard.
People had panicked, screaming as their magic turned against them, freezing in their veins.
His own family had panicked too, locking him in the dark cellars because they feared his shadow magic would draw the rot.
They left him there, cold and alone, listening to their footsteps fade into the distance.
That was the day Onyx learned that trust was a luxury he could not afford.
Now, standing in this ruined temple with Xime, those same feelings of isolation and dread threatened to choke him.
He looked at Xime, whose golden armor was now dull, coated in a thin layer of frost.
"If you're going to stand there and pity yourself, do it quickly," Xime snapped, though his voice shook violently.
"I am not pitying myself," Onyx said, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet.
"My focus is on how much time we have left before your light fails completely."
"It won't fail," Xime argued, but his hand trembled as he tried to spark a small flame.
A pathetic spark of gold appeared for a fraction of a second before dying with a soft hiss.
---
Desolation clung to the ancient solar temple, a place once filled with light and warmth.
Now, it was nothing more than a hollow shell, desecrated by the encroaching darkness.
Onyx felt the cold seeping into his bones, a slow-moving paralysis that threatened to steal his very breath.
He glanced at the shattered altar, where the stone carvings of the sun looked like weeping eyes under the ice.
Xime took another step closer, his shoulders trembling under the weight of his gold-trimmed coat.
"Look at us," Xime said, his voice laced with bitter irony. "The two strongest wielders in Lightlark, freezing to death in a forgotten ruin."
"I am not freezing," Onyx lied, his clenched jaw betraying him.
His fingers were completely numb, the tips turning a