Herrage paints the world in shades of white-hot vengeance, the raw power of creation turned to destruction in her hands. For the first time since my turning, true fear grips me—a primal terror at the force she commands.
Dani finally collapses, her divine power extinguished by exhaustion. Rhyland cradles her like something precious, his big frame dwarfing her limp form. I lift Bryn with equal care, her unconscious weight settling against my chest like she belongs there. Her usually fierce expression has softened in unconsciousness, making her look almost peaceful despite her injuries.
"Let me see her." Heimdall's commanding voice breaks through my possessive haze.
Reluctantly, I lay her in the snow. The damage is devastating—her right wing hangs by mere tendons, the obsidian feathers matted with blood and ice. Deep gashes run along her ribs where the Hræsvelgr's talons found purchase. Her armor is shredded, revealing golden skin turned purple with bruising. Each injury is a testament to my failure, a mark of pride's victory over protection.
I move to where Rhyland kneels, watching him tear open his wrist for Dani. The sight triggers something primal in me—the urge to do the same for Bryn is nearly overwhelming. My fangs ache to pierce my flesh, to offer her my ancient blood, my essence, my very being. The mate-bond screams for completion, for the sharing of blood that would bind us eternally.
But I can't. Won't. Such intimacy must be freely given, freely taken. To force it would be to destroy any chance of her truly accepting me. So I swallow back the need, let it burn in my throat alongside the guilt and desire. The choice must be hers—both the taking of my blood and the giving of hers. No matter how it tears at my soul to watch her suffer when I hold the power to heal her.
"The wings must come off." Heimdall's words fall like an executioner's axe. "There's no other way."
My head falls back, jaw clenched against the roar building in my chest. A warrior's pride is a delicate thing—I've watched it shatter in countless men over the centuries. But Bryn... her wings aren't just appendages. They're her identity, her freedom, her very essence as a Valkyrie. To take them is to clip more than feathers—it's to steal the sky itself from her.
I turn away, unable to witness her mutilation, only to face another kind of heartbreak. Gullfax's golden form lies broken in the blood-stained snow, that cursed axe protruding from his noble chest. His intelligent eyes find mine, filled with pain and understanding that makes my throat tight. His labored breathing creates small clouds in the frigid air, each weaker than the last. The proud beast is dying by inches, his magnificent body slowly surrendering to the cold.
The warrior in me knows what must be done. A clean death is the last mercy I can offer him.
Grave Warden's weight is heavy in my hands as I approach Gullfax again. His golden eye meets mine with an ancient wisdom that transcends species. A warrior recognizing another warrior. His steady blinks speak volumes—permission, acceptance, gratitude. It's the kind of silent communication I've known on countless battlefields.
I raise my blade, calculating the precise angle that will make this swift and clean. The steel catches the light, and I steady my grip—
"NO! Erik, wait!" Dani's desperate cry shatters the solemn moment. She crashes to her knees beside Gullfax's head, snow spraying from her impact. "I can save him." Her voice carries the raw determination of someone who's already defied death once today.
Rhyland drops beside Dani, his hand gentle as he strokes Gullfax's muzzle. "Stay with us, buddy." His tender voice is a stark contrast to his usual warrior demeanor.
Gullfax responds with a weak nicker, his golden eye heavy with pain but trusting. Dani wastes no time—her hands find purchase on Gullfax's powerful neck, eyes sliding shut in concentration. The air crackles as her power manifests, her palms igniting with pure white light. I've seen this only once before when she pulled Emily back from death's door during the witch uprising. Sweat beads on her forehead despite the freezing air, her face tight with effort.
"The axe," she grits out, never opening her eyes. "Get it out. Now."
Rhyland and I move as one, gripping the weapon's ancient handle. The sound it makes leaving Gullfax's flesh turns my stomach—wet, thick, final. But Dani's power surges stronger, the Atherite stone in her crown blazing like a miniature sun. The divine light pours from her hands into Gullfax's wound, fighting death itself for the noble beast's life.
Light knits flesh and bone before my eyes, the gaping wound in Gullfax's chest sealing as if time runs backward. The magnificent beast surges to his feet in one fluid motion, his coat shedding snow and remnants of divine energy like golden sparks. His resurrection stands in stark contrast to Dani's collapse—she crumples into the snow, the price of wielding such power evident in every line of her body.
Rhyland gathers her up with practiced tenderness, but tears still track down her cheeks, steam rising where they fall on the frozen ground. Gullfax steps forward, his movements once again proud and sure, and lowers his head to her level. The gesture holds more nobility than any king's bow. Dani's arms encircle his powerful neck, her fingers burying in his mane as she presses her face against his coat.
"You're welcome," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "It's the least I could do for what you did."
The air shivers with unspoken communication between them—mortal and divine beast sharing thoughts as easily as breathing. Even after witnessing her obliterate an army of undead, this quiet display of power leaves me in awe.
Bryn's agonized scream splits the sky, sending me sprinting back through the snow. The sight that greets us freezes my heart—one obsidian wing lies severed in the crimson snow, while Heimdall prepares to remove its twin.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Dani's voice cracks with exhaustion and fury as she collapses beside her sister. The raw power that had just saved Gullfax is now replaced by desperate concern.
Heimdall's ancient eyes hold the weight of countless difficult decisions. "The choice was made for us, Lightborn. One wing is beyond salvation, and she cannot survive with such imbalance. The wounds must be sealed."
Dani's attention shifts entirely to Bryn, whose proud warrior's facade has crumbled completely. Tears cut tracks through the blood on her face, her body wracked with sobs that tear at my soul. The scent of her essence—rich, powerful, divine—floods my senses until I have to turn away, fangs descending against my will.
"Bryn, look at me." Dani's voice softens to honey, a stark contrast to her earlier rage. She cradles her sister as Bryn thrashes, wild with grief and pain. "Hey, hey... I'm here. Let me help you, sister. Let me try to heal you."
The hysteria in Bryn's sobs eases slightly at Dani's words, but her blood continues to paint the snow in terrible patterns. Each drop calls to me, forcing me to step further away lest I lose control entirely.
Dani's hands tremble as she summons her power again, the Atherite stone's glow dimmer than before. Exhaustion etches deep lines around her eyes, but determination burns brighter. Rhyland stands behind her, tense with shared pain through their bond, his hand on her shoulder anchoring her as she channels what little strength remains.
Divine light flickers around Bryn's wound—weaker now, struggling like a candle in a storm. The torn flesh where her magnificent wing once joined her body slowly knits together, blood flow ebbing to a trickle. But the wing itself lies lifeless in the snow, beyond even creation's power to restore.
Dani collapses against Rhyland, spent and shaking, as Bryn's sobs fade to quiet hiccups. The reality of her loss settles over us like a shroud.
