"If I have to drag you," I say, my voice dropping to a silken, dangerous register, "I will not be gentle. Come. Look at what I have brought for you."
She steps forward, her movements stiff. She approaches the desk, her gaze flickering to the cage. Therodanthrow themselves against the bars, snapping their yellow teeth. She flinches, a small, involuntary jerk of her head.
Good. Fear is there. It is just buried deep.
"Do you know what these are?" I ask, steepling my fingers and resting my chin on them.
"Rodan," she answers. Her voice is steady, but I hear the tremor beneath it. "They eat humans."
"They eat anything," I correct her. "They are creatures of pure appetite. Much like myself."
I drop my hands and circle the desk, standing behind the cage so she is forced to look at me through the mesh of iron and the writhing bodies of the beasts.
"My magic failed a few hours ago," I say conversationally. "It was… a singular occurrence. I believe you are a dampener,Leora. A void in the weave of the Aether. But a void cannot stop a flood."
I raise my hand. The ring flares. It takes more effort than usual—I have to mentally claw at the connection, dragging the power up from the soles of my feet—but the violet light ignites. It wraps around my fingers, crackling with static.
Leora’s eyes widen. She takes a step back.
"Don't," she whispers.
"Watch," I command.
I thrust my hand toward the cage. I do not cast a spell of death. That would be a waste. I cast a hex of agony—a simple weaving of nerve-fire designed to make every synapse in a body fire with blinding pain.
The spell hits therodan.
The effect is instantaneous. The creatures shriek—a high, piercing sound that grates against the teeth. They thrash wildly, biting at themselves, tearing at their own flanks in a frenzy to escape the pain coursing through them.
I inhale, waiting for the rush. I wait for the feedback loop, the delicious, savory taste of their suffering to flow back into me and strengthen the spell. I wait for Leora to scream, for her horror to shatter that infuriating calm she wears like armor.
She does not scream.
I look at her.
Her hands are out of her sleeves now. She is gripping the edge of the desk, her knuckles white. But she is not looking at the rats with disgust. She is looking at them with… recognition.
Her pupils expand. The sapphire is swallowed by an all consuming tide of black, turning her eyes into voids.
Then, it hits me.
It isn’t a sound. It is a physical pressure, an atmospheric shift so sudden my ears pop. The air throughout the room turns thick, viscous, like wading through warm honey.
A wave of sensation crashes into my mind. It is not fear. It is not the sharp, metallic tang of terror I crave.
It is a blanket. Heavy. Warm. Suffocatingly soft.
Peace.
It tastes like milk and vanilla. It feels like the numbness of a limb falling asleep, spreading rapidly through the metaphysical space of the room. It wraps around the chaotic, jagged edges of my magic andsoothesthem.
"No," I snarl, trying to push more power into the hex. "Burn them!"
But the violet light on my hand flickers. The chaotic energy doesn't just fail; it unravels. The threads of the spell go slack, turning from a whip into harmless mist.
Inside the cage, the shrieking stops.
Therodando not die. They do not pass out from pain. They simply… stop. Their frantic scrabbling ceases. Their breathing slows. One of them, a massive male with a scarred ear, uncurls its claws from the bars and settles onto the floor of the cage, blinking lazily.
