Swallowing hard, I turn ever so slowly.
My breath catches in my throat as I see the creature looming behind me. Massive and regal, it radiates raw power and an otherworldly presence. Before I can take in the full scope of what I’m seeing, my blindfold loosens. I reach up to grab it, desperate to keep it in place, but it slips through my fingers, floating gently to the ground.
Light floods my vision, and I instinctively squeeze my eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden brightness. For a moment, I simply stand there, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust. When I finally open them fully, the sight before me steals the air from my lungs.
Towering above me is a white lion, its size dwarfing even my wolves, who are already massive in their own right. Its fur gleams like freshly fallen snow, and from its back spreads a set of enormous, feathered wings so white they seem to glow. The feathers ripple as the lion shifts, catching the faint light in a way that makes it seem ethereal, almost unreal. It huffs, a sound both commanding and strangely gentle, a cloud of warm air billowing from its nostrils.
This is no ordinary creature. This is a luxaryn—a being of legend. And it’s breathtaking.
I stand perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as it begins to circle me, each step silent despite its immense size. I can feel its magic brushing against mine, soft yet potent, like the whisper of a storm on the horizon. Its presence is overwhelming, its energy probing, testing, as if it’s trying to decide whether I’m worthy of its attention.
The air thrums with tension as it moves behind me, out of my line of sight. My muscles lock in place, not from fear, but from aprofound sense of reverence. Suddenly, I feel its tail curl around my waist. The gesture is surprisingly intimate, almost possessive, and I fight the urge to reach out and touch it.
I remain still, letting it finish its assessment, until a familiar voice cuts through the moment.
“You left this on the ice.”
I blink and turn to see Kaden approaching, a wide grin plastered across his face. In his hand, he’s holding my sword, the blade catching the light as it sways slightly in his grip. His eyes flick to the luxaryn, then back to me, as though this entire encounter is perfectly normal.
His grin widens. “Guessing you’ve made a new friend?”
The luxaryn huffs again, this time almost in amusement, as if answering for me.
Chaptersixty-five
Everly
The Skythari Nomads have outdone themselves, hosting a feast so grand it seems to light up the entire encampment. Fires burn bright, casting a warm glow over the gathered tribe as laughter and music fill the air. The rich aromas of spiced meats and freshly baked bread mingle with the sharp tang of the mountain air.
The mood is infectious. Even Raiden, usually so serious, seems to have relaxed, his deep chuckle carrying across the gathering as Kaden tries to teach him one of their traditional drinking songs. Zaria and Iridessa are caught up in a lively dance, spinning and twirling with a grace I can only envy.
But as much as I want to join in, I’m finding it hard to fully embrace the celebration.
My thoughts keep straying back to Maxon, bound and suffering under the Shadoweaver’s cruel magic.
The weight of his captivity bears down on me, a relentless reminder that while this is a victory, the true battle still lies ahead.
I sit at the edge of the firelight, a warm mug cradled in my hands, its heat doing little to thaw the icy knot of worry that seems to be a constant now. I’ve wanted to leave already, to put this win to use and set out to free Maxon. But I know better than to let impatience drive me forward unprepared. The Gauntlet pushed me to my limits, and though the few cuts and bruises I got have already healed—thanks to my magic—I can feel the deep ache of exhaustion settling into my muscles. A night’s rest isn’t a luxury at this point, it is a necessity.
Magic tingles at my fingers as I drop one hand and swirl it around above the snow beside me. Slowly, a sprout forms, pushing through the snow. It’s a vibrant green against the white, though the flower that blooms has icy-blue petals.
Barak approaches, a tankard in one hand and an unreadable expression on his face. He lowers himself onto the log beside me, the firelight dancing in his piercing blue eyes.
“Ice lily.” He gives a pointed look down at the flower.
“I’ve never seen a lily like this,” I whisper, watching the petals shimmer a soft crystalized blue.
“You did well today,” he says simply, his voice low but firm. “The luxaryn don’t always choose to pair with someone, even if you finish the Gauntlet. You have a pure heart, Everly. Just like your mother.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
The words feel hollow, almost disconnected from me. I made it across—that much is true—but everything that led to this point presses down on me. I should feel triumphant, maybe even proud. Instead, all I feel is tired. Barak studies me with a kind of measuredpatience. The flames flicker across his weathered face, throwing shadows that make his expression hard to read.
“You’ve earned the respect of the tribe tonight,” Barak continues, taking a long drink before setting the tankard down. “But respect is only the beginning. You need to prove you will be a strong leader.”
“I understand.” I meet his gaze.
“Do you?” he questions, his brow raising slightly. “The Gauntlet was a test, yes. But it was only a taste of what’s to come. The kelpie interfered and helped you across the lake, where most don’t make it to the other side.”
