Damien’s voice cut through the stillness. “Stay down, Greg.”
His shadows moved fast, forming a shield around them, cloaking them in darkness.
Then Luna exploded.
Her power blasted outwards, erupting like a fireball, tearing the skies apart. White-hot starlight flooded the field in a blinding wave, disintegrating everything in its path: men, weapons—even the air itself.
There was nothing left of the camp. Her magic had obliterated all, burning through the earth itself, scalding it to the bone. For miles, the devastation stretched . . . the ground charred and lifeless; not even a single blade of grass had survived.
But she wasn’t done. She had willed her magic to burn, to scare William, but now there was no stopping it.
Magic spilled from her every pore, until she was a living star—bright, blinding, and unbearably hot. She willed herself to cool, to calm, but it was no use. The heat grew. And with it, her terror. She desperately tried to grasp the scalding power flowing within her, but it slipped through her fingers, exploding outward, shining brighter than the sun.
Across the field of black dirt, Damien’s worried gaze locked onto hers. He tipped his head, his horn gleaming with shadows. A vortex formed at its tip, tendrils swirling of the darkest black.
The air around him shuddered, compressing in on itself as it was sucked into the black hole. He drew her magic towards him, trying to absorb it. Their powers collided, their polarizing forces clashing and whirling, hers ultimately fragmenting against his. Damien took only excess, leaving her to gain control of the rest.
She closed her eyes and focused.
She envisioned the warmth that always nestled in her chest—not as something foreign or separate but as a part of her. A single entity, not divided. She pictured herself shrinking to the size of a candle flame, small enough to be blown out.
Then, like a burnt-out star vanishing from the night sky, her magic began to retreat. Her skin cooled and relief flooded her mind. She could do this. With the last of her strength, she forced her magic to yield—and it obeyed. The flames died. The glow of skin dulled as her magic folded back into its rightful place.
Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the scorched earth, her body trembling as the final traces of magic faded away. Only then did she realize she had transformed at some point.
She lifted her head, disoriented, searching the aftermath to find Damien smiling at her. Not with triumph or joy but rather with deep, weary relief. With a flick of his great horn, he then closed the black hole.
Luna stirred and it took her a moment to realize she was alive. Her ears flattened against her skull. She couldn’t tell if the world was buzzing or if the hollow sound was only ringing in her mind. Her body ached, every shift sending new waves of agony through her.
She fought to rise, legs trembling beneath her and a low groan escaping her throat before she could stop it, every shaky breath scraping her raw lungs. Pain lanced every movement, but it was her hooves that hurt worst of all—no longer strong, but raw and tender; the damage from her torn nails carried over into her unicorn form. The thought of stepping forward made her stomach turn. Her foreleg pulsed where the arrow had pierced her, each heartbeat stoking the wound’s slow, burning ache.
It was a miracle she could stand at all. She couldn’t even remember when sleep had overtaken her—it had been less a choice, and more of a surrender to the void.
The world around her was eerily silent. The sharp tang of burnt earth hung thick in the air. Somehow, impossibly, she was whole—despite the hell she’d unleashed.
She braced herself and looked out over the ruin she had wrought. It didn’t feel real, more like a story she’d been told . . . a nightmare she’d woken from. Yet the vast emptiness stretching before her was undeniable.
The smell of fruit wafted before her, sweet and fresh.
Her gaze dropped.
There, amidst the blackened earth, sat a small, neat pile of red apples. The stark contrast—the absurdity of the little pile—almost made her laugh.
Almost.
Instead, she dragged her attention towards the two figures in the distance. Had they done this? Damien and Gregory stood together, both still in unicorn form, deep in conversation, oblivious to her waking.
I could run.The thought came unbidden, sharp and clear. The conversation she had overheard last night replayed in her mind. Damien planned to give her to the Darkened One—maybe that was why he fought so hard to save her. Because doing so meant getting his sister back.
Her nostrils flared. She could barely walk, let alone run. She swallowed hard, trying and failing to quickly decipher a plan.
She glanced back at Damien; his silhouette was draped in shadows as if waiting for the next threat to surface.I could stay with him,she realized.Let him protect me until I’m strong enough to leave. Once I’m in Eloria, I could disappear before he can set his plans into motion. I’d finally be free.The thought wasn’t comforting, but it was her only chance. For now, she’d stay by his side. Use him. Even if his protection came with its own dangers, it was better than trying to flee and face more of the king’s men elsewhere by herself.
She grabbed an apple and bit into its crisp flesh, savouring the burst of sweetness that filled her mouth.
The sharp crunch caught their attention. Damien turned first, his gaze locking onto her. There was something raw in his expression—relief, perhaps, but also something darker, heavier.
He started towards her, each step impossibly sturdy . . . strong even. How had he already recovered? It only further proved that he was capable of inflicting far worse damage than the torture she had endured.
