Caelan was still unconscious, lying in the grass. A few stray tendrils of his hair brushed over his forehead as he slept. One look at his helpless state, and she knew—she could not and would not satiate the hunger of death with her blood without spilling black blood of their own.
She squared her shoulders, resolve eclipsing fear as she drew in a steady breath. She removed her Starwood bow and empty quiver from her back, setting them on the singed grass. She reached for her throat and unclasped her cloak, a shiver running down her spine as it fell into a puddle around her feet. Stepping around Caelan, she quieted the storms in her mind, willing a distant memory to surface once again—the memory once tied to her tether.
Elion was walking with her on the beach, the wind blowing his unruly hair into his green eyes. He tipped his head back, laughing, and her laughs joined his, weaving into a melody that lightened her heart.
She let the memory pause, his laughter etched in the expanse of her thoughts, floating about the waters like a beacon next to the twinkling Star she now called her tether. There were some things death’s grip could not hold—undying love was one of those.
Astraia saw a small flash out of the corner of her eye as moonlight shone on the hilt of Caelan’s sword, lying beside him. Kneeling, she grabbed the blade, feeling the roughness of the hilt against her cold hands. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched the sword in both hands, raising it across her chest in defense, just as the wraiths rushed for her.
Cinders danced from the hooves of the Nyrekh with every pounding step, rattling the forest with their march. The wraiths let out a battle cry, a terrible howling shriek that rang in her ears.
Even the Stars could not save her now.
Darkness and shadow swallowed the field as the wraiths charged her, their tattered black cloaks billowing behind them like sails for the ships that carried lost souls to Solrend.
Only her soul was not lost. It might have been at one time, but she had learned she was stronger than her bonds—they did not define her.
Raising her sword, she braced for death’s final blow. Her voice rang out clear and absolute.
“I am Starlight. I will not fall.”
Red broadswords slashed down at her, and a blast of heat blew her hair from her face.
Red and blue flames roared from over her head, flinging the wraiths backward, hurtling them off their steeds. The Nyrekh reared, shrieking in terror, and peeled off into the trees. The wraiths clamored to their feet, billowing smoke from their mouths and flames from their swords.
Astraia whipped around, readying her sword for another attacker, only to find familiar amber eyes glowing into her own.
Draven. He was here.
“You came,” she breathed.
“I always will,” he replied, voice low as he strode toward her.
It was then she noticed that his hands glowed red. Faint, pulsing red veins crept up his arms and neck. His broadsword was still sheathed on his back, but the hilt pulsed red as well.
“What…” she started, but his eyes darted behind her.
Placing a hand in front of her, he pushed her behind him, shielding her from the two wraiths marching toward them. The ground shook with each step they took, boots slamming into the ground. Shadow and red sparks danced around their molten bodies. In tandem, the wraiths raised their blades, prepared to annihilate their prey.
Draven did not allow them the chance. In a breath, he drew his broadsword, gripping tightly with both hands, then a burst of fire erupted down the blade, coating it in red and blue flames. His entire body pulsed with red light, flooding the field in blood.
Without hesitating, he broke into a run, straight toward the pair of demons. Flames trailed behind him, licking at his heels as he closed the distance between the wraiths.
Just as he came within striking distance, he threw out one hand in front of the first wraith. Red and blue flames flared from his palm, widening into a cyclone of fire that engulfed the demon. Ear-splitting wails followed but were immediately silenced as Draven brought his sword of flames down, severing the wraith’s head.
The second wraith was on him in seconds, slashing down his own broadsword in a flurry of movement. Draven twisted, avoiding the strike, then countered with an upward slash. The wraith tried to block his attack, but it was too late. Red and blue flames spewed into the wraith’s side, melting his armor, and his ashen skin sizzled from the heat. More shrieks filled the night sky, but the hunter was not finished yet.
With a roar, he drove his blade into the wraith’s middle, spewing black blood onto the earth and burning flesh. The wraith doubled over as Draven removed his blade. Sparks flashed from where the wraith’s blade fell from his hand onto the soil. The red-eyed demon knelt before Draven, coughing up black ink.
Astraia could hear the demon speak in his ancient tongue, looking up at Draven, who stood alight with a fiery glow surrounding him. The glow illuminated the wraith’s face as it smiled, sharp teeth glistening.
Draven’s hand shot out, wrapping around the wraith’s neck. Red and blue flames flared from his fingertips and curled into the wraith’s mouth as he gasped for air.
“You cannot have her. Not while I draw breath,” Draven snarled and drove his flames down the demon’s throat.
The cracked ashen skin lit up from the inside as the wraith burned until gaping wounds appeared on his body and black smoldering blood leeched out. The wraith no longer screamed, unable to draw breath or make sounds as molten fire was poured down his throat.
Seconds passed, and the wraith’s body melted away, burning to ash from the inside out. Flakes of burned gray skin were all that remained when the flames subsided.
