Elara pressed the blade’s tip into the fractured current, feeling the thrum of energy vibrate up her arm. The metal pulsed, alive with power—but then, her chest clenched, a searing, crushing grip that stole her breath. She gasped, her hand flying to her heart. Something dark coiled there, deep inside, twisting tighter with every spark of energy from the blade.
The parasite.
She clenched her teeth, trying to press forward, to force the rift open despite the agony stabbing through her ribs. But the pain became blinding, unrelenting, dragging her vision into a haze and tearing a cry from her lips.
Elara yanked the blade from the current, her fingers clawing at her neck as she struggled for air.
No.No.
She tightened her grip on the hilt, refusing to fail, even as cold sweat slicked her skin. Determined, she raised the blade again, but the moment it touched the currents, the darkness surged. It devoured the energy from the Wound of Light, consuming it like a ravenous beast.
Fuck.
Elara staggered backward, her hands trembling violently at her sides.
She couldn’t do it.Gods, she had promised, and she couldn’t do it.
Stumbling out of the Void, her the faces waiting for her came into view, each one filled with silent, desperate hope. She couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes, except for one.
“I was so sure,” she said to Reynnar, her voice barely more than a whisper. He reached out, his fingers steady as they wrapped around hers, firm and calm against the tremor in her own.
“Let us help you,” Aoife said, stepping to her other side.
Elara’s gaze shifted, narrowing as it fixed on the three Sidhe behind Aoife. They stood like statues carved from moonlight—fierce, otherworldly.
The two females were opposites: one with hair as dark as midnight cascading down her back, her skin pale and almost luminous in the dim light; the other with fiery, untamed hair the color of autumn leaves, her brown skin ashen, robbed of its warmth by long, lightless days of captivity. The male stoodslightly behind them, tall and broad, his silver-streaked hair falling loose around a face etched with years of scars.
Their hands rested at their sides, but tension coiled in their stances—a readiness, as if they were waiting for the slightest signal to unleash the power humming beneath their skin.
Elara glanced back at Reynnar and Aoife, unease prickling in her stomach, a quiet sense of foreboding settling over her. But she nodded, resolute, and the five of them stepped forward, vanishing into the Void.
The air shifted, cool and still, the subtle currents of the Void brushing gently against her skin. The quiet was unnerving, the calm pressing in like a held breath. She raised the Wound of Light high, and sliced the blade’s tip through the air, parting the swirling streams with a fierce, precise strike.
A faint glow rippled outward, fragments of the Void illuminated in soft glimmers of light. The fracture widened in response, but with it came a familiar tightening in her chest—an invisible claw sinking deep.
Elara trembled, her strength funneling into the darkness within her. She grit her teeth, swallowing back her cry as the blade wavered, slipping just enough to nick her palm. Her muscles screamed, trembling violently as she pushed the blade forward, every ounce of her will, every shred of her spirit, thrown into the desperate act of forcing the gate to open. Her vision blurred, black spots creeping at the edges.Too much. Her heart thundered, a wild, unsteady rhythm that threatened to stop altogether. She was loosing too much.
And then—warmth. A grounding pressure curled around her wrist, pulling her back from the edge. Startled, her gaze darted down to find the woman with midnight hair gripping her tightly. Her hold anchoring Elara as a surge ofDraothcoursed through her veins. It was cool, rushing like a sweeping tide, filling everyinch of her. The ache in her chest ebbed, the leeching sensation retreating under the force flowing into her.
Elara angled the blade deeper into the fracture, pushing forward as the currents gave way. It felt as though the sun coiled inside her, stars flaring and collapsing within her bones, filling her as the blade shook in her hand.
The other two Sidhe stepped up and poured theirDraothinto the current—a torrent of fire that surged through her, driving the storm inside her to a breaking point. She stood at the heart of a maelstrom, pure energy coursing beneath her skin, sparking along her veins.
Then it hit her, a blow to the chest that left her breathless. The floodgates opened, and she saw it all—their fears, their fleeting hopes, and the grim certainty in their minds.
They were going to die.
They were sacrificing themselves for their people.
Her lips quivered as she fought to contain the tidal wave of emotion rising inside her, fingers curling into fists until her knuckles ached. And still, the Sidhe poured everything into her, draining themselves of every last shred of power.
They were trusting her—with their people, their sacrifice. Trusting her to carry it all across the rift. It was a faith so absolute, so fierce, it felt like her soul might fracture under it.
A deep well of sadness threatened to drown her—grief for all that had been taken from them, the torment they'd endured. But that sorrow shifted inside her, curling into somethingblistering. TheDraothcoursing through her flared, heat singeing her fingertips before she realized she was pulling on the thread of fire within her, releasing her ire in a physical surge.
What Osin had taken from them—from her. It was heinous, unimaginable. Ripping families apart, stealing children from their beds, draining the Sidhe of theirDraothto cement his reign over the realm.
It was a massacre—a slow annihilation of her people.Her people.
