He wants peace? Then I’ll give him the only kind he deserves. The kind found in silence and eternal dark.
Smoke whips from my back, serpentine and alive, lashing around his wrists and driving them into the dirt. He thrashes, chokes, the ground trembling beneath him as I raise Death Singer high, ready to end this once and for all.
And then his lips twist. “Nael tir’an velthra.”
The words slither through the air like a curse.
I roar. Something cold snaps tight around my throat then a click, final and cruel.
The blade dissolves in my hand. My fingers rake at my neck, scraping against polished metal. A collar. Smooth, seamless.
My wings falter, the shadow bleeding from them like smoke escaping a cracked vessel. I reach for the void, my power, my rage, but it slides through my grasp, slipping away like mist through fingers.
And then… nothing.
No smoke.
No shadows.
No void.
Not even Emranth.
I feel the warmth drain from me. My veins turn to ice beneath my skin, the color leeching away until I’m the shade of ash. My lips move soundlessly, shaping half-formed words, the horror of what’s been done stealing even the air from my lungs.
Before I can take another breath, Anethesis thrusts his hand forward.
The wind strikes like a hammer. It tears me from him, hurling me backward. My spine collides with the same ancient tree we shattered moments ago. The trunk groans under the impact, splitting wider, its age-old strength finally faltering. I drop to my knees, pulling at the collar, just as the tree gives a long, low creak and topples.
I have no wings to carry me. No smoke to shield me. Not even the void to vanish into.
I lurch to my feet and run, throwing myself clear just as the massive trunk crashes to the ground. The impact shakes the earth, throwing up a storm of dust and bark and leaves.
I gasp for air, lungs burning. As the dust clears, I catch a flash of movement above. Zyphoro with Mirael still in her arms.
“No!” I shout, arm stretched toward her. “Zyphoro, get away!”
Too late.
Anethesis’s voice slices through the chaos. He whispers the curse again. His finger rises, and a streak of silver leaps from it like a lightning bolt. It catches her, coiling around her throat.
The collar locks with a sharp metallic click, my sister caged once again.
Her wings vanish mid-flight. She plummets.
In the fleeting time that follows, as she tumbles towards the earth, Zyphoro folds herself around Mirael, cocooning the human tight against her chest. The two of them spin through the air and, at the last instant, Zyphoro turns, her back crashing against the earth, taking the shattering impact.
I turn on Anethesis, voice breaking with rage. “You shame our ancestors by using this device!” I snarl. “You desecrate everything sacred! Even in desperation, the old covenants must be honored!”
He stares at me for a heartbeat, expressionless, then shakes his scarred head. “As you said, Daedalus,” he murmurs, almost gently. “The time of the Fae is over. The old laws mean nothing now.”
His gaze slides back to the churned soil, to where Amara lies beneath the broken earth. His lips curve in a small, terrible smile. “Now. Where was I?”
He stretches out his hand, and the air twists once more. The vortex roars to life, faster, stronger than before, clawing deeper into the ground.
I stagger to my feet, every muscle screaming. No wings, no magic, just fury and flesh and the promise I made her. I charge, but the air catches me mid-stride.
It wraps around me like iron bands, lifting me from the ground. My arms lock at my sides, ribs compressing under the pressure. I hang there, helpless, forced to watch as Anethesis digs deeper, closer to her.
