“Ohhh, come on,” he drawls, blade digging in until a thin line of red slips down the cadet’s neck. “There’s got to besomethingyou can share, something that makes givinghimback worth it.”
There is. Probably a few things, if I’m honest. But I’m not giving someone like Kael more power. Not over good people. Not over anyone.
Quietly, I start unknotting my Threads, slow and silent, letting the magic rise under my skin.
“Last warning, Kael.” My voice goes low. Steel-flat. “Let the cadet go. Turn around. And fuck off home.”
“What home?” Kael spits. “Ashvale got burnt to the ground. Didn’t you hear?” His voice frays at the edges. “Those Innerland pricks, letting dragons loose up north. Iknowit was them. Shit’s been happening in the Northern Peaks for months now. That’s why I need my magic, Lyra. They cast us out. Took our power. Took everything.” His eyes lock on mine, hungry and hollow. “I want it. And you’re going to help me.”
“Thorn!” Talen’s voice slices through the alley as he skids into view—breath sharp, eyes scanning fast. His gaze flicks from me to Kael, to the blade at the cadet’s throat, then back to me.
For a second, he doesn’t move. I don’t either—but my magic’s ready, coiled under my skin, Threads fully drawn now, wound and waiting. One wrong move and Kael’s going down hard.
Talen sees it. Seesme—not panicked, not flinching. Just, holding. “I’ve got him, but three more of them ran toward the outpost after the other cadet.”
He hesitates. Just a beat. I flick him a look.Go.He does.
In front of me, Kael shifts, dragging the cadet half a step back, blade still pressed tight.
“I’m not teaching you,” I say, voice flat, every word weighted. “People like you don’t deserve that kind of power.”
“Oh, and you do?” he spits, eyes flicking toward the Innerlands. “Just because you wear their colours now?”
I don’t answer, just hold my ground, magic ready.
He shrugs, casual, like we’re just bartering over bread. “Too bad, I guess there’s no use for this one anymore.”
“Don’t,” I warn, one last time, muscle tensing, hands shifting at my sides. “Don’t make me dothis.”
And for a second, I want to believe he’ll listen. That he’ll step back. That this doesn’t have to end the way it’s clearly about to.
If I wait, this cadet dies. If I strike, I kill one of my own, an Outerlander. But Kael didn’t come for a warning. He came for blood.
So when he moves, elbow snapping, blade shifting?—
I don’t hesitate.
The air cracks as my hands lift.My Threads whip forward—blazing, fast—dragging the wind with them in a sudden rush before slamming into his chest like a hammer blow.
Kael jerks—body twisting, breath torn from him in one wet, ragged sound?—
Then drops.
Hard. Lifeless.
The cadet stumbles free with a cry, scrambling away from the body.
But I stay frozen.
My hands are still raised, power still coiled beneath my skin, every part of me braced to strike again.But it’s done. I did that. It was clean. Quick, final, easy. Too easy.
I lower my hands.
But I don’t get the chance to breathe, to process?—
A cry erupts behind me.
Talen.
