I use this moment of insecurity and seek once again my magical lake.
And gasp.
Instead of the tender, moonlight-kissed surface, I find a roaring lava lake of sheer power.
The air around me crackles with energy. A rush of arcane power courses through me, shaking me, transforming me. My magic, no longer suppressed, surges to life and spills free into the night forest. The pain in my wrist and ankle dulls. The shadows retreat, and I rise to my feet, the Candle held high.
Unfamiliar spells find their way to my lips. Blinding lightning bolts shoot from my fingers, tearing thralls apart. Some just, holy rage has taken over my body, and my eyes meet those of the Shadowfeeder. They narrow with suspicion.
If only I had a weapon…It takes just a blink, and I feel an unfamiliar weight in my right hand. I look down and see a blade of pure light shimmering like the sun’s rays over the water on a bright summer day.
A mad smile curls my lips as I raise it and take a step toward the tall, shadowy form. The thralls that have surrounded me are reduced to smoking, ichor-leaking pieces of rotting flesh. It’s just me and the darkness now.
The Shadowfeeder lets out a low growl.
And it takes a step back.
Suddenly, my body knows what to do. With a shriek that echoes over the quiet forest, I plunge the blade deep into its chest.
The Shadowfeeder snarls, its form dissolving into the gloom. The remaining thralls, their connection to the creature severed, collapse to the ground, lifeless. The forest grows still, the night breeze picking up the stench and sweeping it away.
I look at the blade in my hand and around the desolated clearing where dozens of torn Tainted Ones are lying, terrifying even now.
A night bird resumes its calls in the distance, and the crickets—their eternal song.
Life. Life always finds a way.
No idea what magic has been locked inside me and where it came from, but it found me at the right moment. Miraculously, my body is completely healed.
I grin in the twilight.
It’s time to find that temple and end this.
The Prince
Long Live the King
The Elders have granted me an unfair advantage in the final Trial: it’s not my first visit to the Silverbriar Woods. I have rummaged through the temple ruins, turned every stone in search of something I cannot point my finger on, and camped near the creek of that confused but friendly water hag. In fact, it is one of my favorite places in the Wastelands; it reminds me of how it used to be before the anger of the gods unleashed the Hex.
The dark inevitability of the future rises like a curse from the churned soil, swirling around my riding boots, mixing with my shadows. A blade delves deep into my heart, making each step slower and heavier. Flashes of the moments we shared with Talysse make me halt and lean against a trunk, rubbing my temples.
Cursed be the Trials, cursed be the cruel, heartless gods who demand this, and cursed be this whole dark, rotting world!
What needs to be done is clear. A swift and painless death by my hand is the best outcome for all of us. For the whole realm. The way to the crown goes over her dead body; it’s as simple as that. No Unseelie will follow a king who shows mercy to a human. No Unseelie will bow to a king who hesitates to claim his victory and land the final blow to a weaker enemy.
Better get it over with fast. I will go to that temple and give them the spectacle they came for.
Yet I’m still praying for a miracle when something makes me stand still.
Blood.
A trail of it, leading to a steep ravine.
And a stench that’s easy to recognize. Tainted Ones.
My rage solidifies, takes shape at my side, and the Shadowblade shimmers in my hand.
Leaping over the edge, I land softly on my feet and press my forearm to my nose. Elders! Over three dozen mutilated Tainted Ones lie around—torn apart by spells, burned or broken. Puddles of reeking ichor cover the forest floor, and their innards already attract the insects. They are lying in a circle around a tiny spot.
