None of them have to.
The hooded figure — Alekir, it has to be Alekir — tilts his head. Studying us. Studyingme.
I can’t see his face beneath that hood. Can’t make out anything except the faint gleam of pale fingers clasped in front of him, too still, too deliberate.
But I feel him.
It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling the drop before you see it. Like the moment before lightning strikes, when the air goes heavy and wrong.
My senses arescreaming.
“Six bloodlines.” His voice carries across the plateau like it’s being spoken directly into my skull. Calm. Almost amused. “Seven bonds. One Valkyrie.”
He spreads his hands.
“At last.”
The robed figures around the Gate shift. Adjusting. Watching. Their magic pulses in rhythm with the structure behind them — that massive, ancient thing built from black stone that drinks the light.
The Gate.
It’s already glowing. Sickly green veins of power threading through the stone, pulsing like a heartbeat. Like something alive and waiting.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” Alekir’s voice is soft. Patient. The kind of patience that comes from centuries of planning. “How many pieces had to fall into place. How many sacrifices had to be made.”
Torric’s heat flares behind me. I feel his rage through the bond — hot and sharp and barely leashed.
“Touch her and I’ll burn you where you stand,” he growls.
Alekir doesn’t even look at him.
“The Berserker speaks.” There’s something almost fond in his tone. Almost pitying. “Such fire. Such loyalty. Suchpredictability.”
The wind dies.
Just like that — one second it’s tearing at us, the next it’s gone. The air goes still and heavy, pressing against my ears like we’ve sunk underwater.
Alekir’s doing. Has to be.
“Better,” he says. “Now we can have a proper conversation.”
A flash of light behind him.
Alenya materializes out of thin air, stumbling slightly, her perfect composure cracked around the edges. Callum’s unconscious body drops beside her, hitting the snow with a dull thump.
“They teleported exactly as instructed,” she says, breathless. Trying to recover her poise. “I ensured it personally.”
Alekir doesn’t acknowledge her.
“My lord.” Alenya steps forward, urgent now. “The Luthar boy — his magic has changed. The corruption is—”
“Enough.”
One word. Quiet. Absolute.
Alenya’s mouth snaps shut.
“You have served your purpose.” Alekir still hasn’t looked at her. His attention is fixed on me — I can feel it like a physical weight, even though I can’t see his eyes. “Leave.”
