It waseverywhere. In myblood, in mybones, in the marrow of my soul. The force of it nearly knocked me breathless, slamming into me, the air itself aliveinside my skin.
For a single, shuddering heartbeat everythingstilled.
Then—
Chaos.
Xyliria’s shriek of ragerippedthrough the chamber. She’d deflected the blade, and clouds of crimson poured from her.
Athunderousroar filled the space asVarythsurgedforward, breaking free of his shock, his fury unleashed. Hebarrelled into the nearest guards, sending themflying, the raw power in his strikesshaking the ground beneath us.
I spun, blade flashing.
Slashing at the chains binding Linc.
The steel sparked, once—twice—before the linkssnapped.
Hestaggered, sucking in a gasping breath as hetorehimself free.
“The others!” I shouted, already pivoting.
Linc was already moving.
Powerthrummedthrough me, raw andelectric, my veins pulsing with the sheer force of my magic finallyroaringback to life.
But when I unleashed it?—
It wasn’t fire.
It was smoke.
No. Not smoke.
Shadows.
Darkness, wild anduntethered,pouredfrom my skin. It slithered outward—a force that was both a part of me andsomething else entirely. They were rage and memory and a power infinitely older. But somehow, they had always been there. Waiting.
They swept across the stone floor in a violent tide,rippingthrough the nearest guards with a merciless hunger,swallowing them whole. Their shouts barely formed before the darkness devoured them.
Xyliria stumbled back.
I heard someone scream my name, whether in awe or terror, I didn’t know. I didn’t look around to find out.
Because for the first time, I saw a crack through thatperfect, cruel maskXyliria always wore. Her lips parted, ready to speak, to order, todemand. But no words came. There werenone.
Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.
I wasn’t supposed to happen.
73
Live.
The shadows sang, soft now. Fierce still. The blade slipped from Ashterion’s hand with a mutedthudas it hit the grass. His whole body trembled. His shoulders were hunched, breath ragged, fingers curled into the earth as though he might fly apart without it.
The shadows cradled him.
Ashterion sat there, curled in on himself, forehead pressed to the inside of his arm as the song hummed through his bones.
