The battlefield was a storm of light and shadow, screams and clashing weapons filling the air. Ash gripped a dagger in her trembling hands, her wings twitching anxiously at her sides. She had never imagined war would come to this, Heaven and Hell locked in a brutal struggle. Amid the chaos, the Prince never strayed far from her side, his calm demeanor a lifeline in the madness.

"Stay close to me," he commanded, his voice firm but protective. His dark wings flared as he struck down an approaching angel, his movements precise and calculated. Ash couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, marveling at the way he fought—not with cruelty, but with unyielding determination.

“I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt,” Ash whispered, her voice breaking as she watched the battle unfold.

“You’re not,” the Prince replied, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “This is bigger than you, Ash. They’re fighting for what they believe in—just like we are.”

Before she could respond, a shout rang out. A group of Heaven’s guards was advancing, their golden armor gleaming as they pushed toward her. Ash’s breath caught in her throat. She raised her dagger, but her grip faltered, fear rooting her to the spot.

“Ash, move!” the Prince shouted, stepping in front of her without hesitation.

The guards charged, their weapons raised, and the Prince met them head-on. His blade clashed with theirs in a flurry of sparks, his every strike precise and fierce. But there were too many of them. One guard broke through his defense, their spear aimed directly at Ash.

Time slowed. Ash’s heart pounded in her chest as the weapon closed in. She saw the Prince’s eyes widen, a mix of panic and resolve flashing across his face.

“No!” he shouted, throwing himself between her and the spear.

The blade pierced his side with a sickening sound, the impact driving him to his knees. Ash screamed, her voice raw with anguish as the Prince collapsed in front of her, blood staining his dark armor. The guards hesitated, stunned by his sacrifice, and in that brief moment, Hell’s warriors surged forward, driving them back.

Ash dropped to her knees beside the Prince, her hands shaking as she pressed them against the wound. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and terrifyingly real.

“Why… why did you do that?” she choked out, tears streaming down her face.

The Prince managed a weak smile, his hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Because… you’re worth it,” he whispered, his voice strained but steady. “I couldn’t let them take you. Not now. Not ever.”

“You’re bleeding so much,” she sobbed, her wings curling protectively around him as if they could shield him from the pain. “You can’t—don’t leave me!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “But you need to keep going, Ash. This isn’t over.”

The Queen and King of Hell appeared then, their dark forms casting long shadows over the battlefield. The Queen knelt beside Ash, her sharp eyes narrowing as she assessed the wound.

“He’ll survive,” she said with certainty, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. “But he needs time to heal.”

Ash nodded, barely able to hear her over the pounding of her heart. She helped lift the Prince onto a makeshift stretcher, her hands never leaving his as they carried him away from the fight.

As they retreated to the safety of Hell’s fortress, Ash looked back at the battlefield, her resolve hardening. The war wasn’t over, but now it was personal. She wouldn’t let the Prince’s sacrifice be in vain.

She would fight—not just for herself, but for him.