“But his light magic—”
He lifts a hand.
She flickers — there one moment, gone the next. Not dead. Just… removed. Dismissed like an inconvenience Alekir couldn’t be bothered to tolerate.Just — gone. Blinked out of existence like she was never there.
Callum remains, crumpled in the snow like discarded garbage. My shadows reach toward him instinctively — Linda drifting close, Carl hovering uncertainly — but there’s nothing they can do. Nothing any of us can do.
He was bait. This whole time, he was bait.
And Kieran’s compassion led us straight into the trap.
I feel Kieran’s guilt crash through the bond — heavy enough to choke on. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react outwardly, but inside he’s drowning.
Not your fault, I want to tell him.You couldn’t have known.
But I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t do anything except stand here and face the monster who orchestrated all of this.
Movement at the edge of my vision.
One of the robed figures steps forward, pushing back his hood.
Thorne.
My stomach drops.
He looks… wrong. Not proud, not victorious. His face is drawn, shadows under his eyes, something broken in his expression.
He doesn’t look at Darian.
Can’tlook at Darian I realize.
I feel Darian’s reaction through the bond — a spike of fear and fury and something that might be betrayal. His light magic flares brighter, defensive, instinctive.
Thorne flinches.
Alekir doesn’t acknowledge him. Doesn’t need to. The message is clear enough — Thorne is here because Alekir wants him here.And Darian’s reaction tells me everything I need to know about what that means.
Thorne’s jaw tightens. He still won’t meet Darian’s eyes.
“The corruption was elegant work,” Alekir continues. He’s walking now — slow, deliberate steps that bring him closer to our group. The snow parts around his feet. The sickly green light seems to bend toward him. “Centuries of planning. Generations of preparation. And at the center of it all…”
He stops.
Directly in front of me.
“You.”
Bob bristles. Mouse’s growl deepens. My shadows press closer, defensive, protective — but they feel small suddenly. Insignificant against whatever this creature is.
“You don’t even understand what you are,” Alekir says. Soft. Almost gentle. “What you represent. What you cando.”
“I know enough.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I know you destroyed the Valkyries. I know you’ve been trying to break Absentia for centuries. I know—”
“You knownothing.”
The word hits like a slap.
“You are a child playing with forces older than your bloodline. Older than this realm. Older than the concept of realms themselves.” He tilts his head, and I catch the faintest gleam of something beneath that hood — eyes that burn without light. “You think this is about destruction? About conquest?”
