His skin from wrist to knuckle marbles black crystal webbing, veins branching like petrified lightning. Obsidian shards sparkle at joints; claws where nails once were. He flexes hand slowly, then curls fist. “A mark of the realm’s pain,” he says, as though unveiling badge of honor.
I feel energy coil behind me—Kylan ready to lunge, Remi crackling lightning, Isabelle drawing earth’s weight. I raise palm. “Not yet.”
I step onto dais, latticed chest bared by purposeful tug of scarf. Sethis’s gaze flickers. I speak so only he can hear. “Dragon shard’s hunger hollowed you. Your mind flickers like a dying lantern. Surrender now; I may still sever tether.”
His chuckle is a sound of glass skittering on tile. “I am tether, Oracle. It whispers open-sky promise. Your anchors would cage us in dusk forever.”
He raises corrupted hand. Obsidian veins along his arm glow. The floor pattern beneath begins to crack, tiny fissures like thin scripts etching outward. He intends to shatter dais, unleash tear.
I spread arms, letting cloak drop. The lattice across my torso blazes. Pain sears, but I channel it, shaping prophecy light along channels etched into bone. Words surge unbidden, ancient as the first breath of cosmos.
“Stone that sleeps beneath seas, heed the voice that named you star. Return to dust unmade.”
The lattice bursts into argent fire, seeping through skin in a wash of pure resonance. Beams spear outward, lancing across dais and striking Sethis’s arm. Light and obsidian meet with scream like steam wailing. He staggers, black encroachment rippling.
He tries to draw on corruption, but my light follows filaments up veins, into shoulder, neck. His hood falls back. The tendrils wrap skull under skin—fractured glass pattern. I boost power, though every beat costs cellular agony. My vision blurs; I smell burning quartz.
He roars wordless—voice layered, as though another being yowls beneath. A pulse of shadow shoves back, a force that rattles ribs. I stumble but hold stance. Kylan growls; I sense him ready. I need one final surge.
I picture Yarrow’s freed spirit. I picture Laurel studying maps. I picture Kylan’s heartbeat syncing to mine in icy river.The images form trinity anchor. I hurl them through lattice. Crystal veins along my left bicep splinter, flesh beneath opening like petals as quartz erupts, shearing skin but releasing tide of starlight directly into Sethis’s core.
Light floods dais, whiting vision. For heartbeat I hear nothing. Then a brittle crack. When glow fades, Sethis stands rigid, eyes wide with shock. Obsidian spiderweb vanishes, replaced by fissures of empty glass, dark veins drained. He sways.
Serivon and Arta dash forward, catching him. He collapses, breathing ragged. Black residue seeps from mouth and fingernails, pooling on marble before evaporating into sparkle dust—benign now, inert.
My knees buckle. The ripped skin on bicep gushes crimson, edged by crystalline bloom now spread to elbow. Kylan arrives, scooping me upright. Blood seeps onto his tunic; he doesn’t care. Gallery roars with clamor—fear, awe, gratitude, horror.
Vail, the violet Arbiter, kneels by Sethis, reading pulse. After moment he rises, voice carrying. “Corruption purged. Essence reading stable.”
Relief cascades, followed by murmurs: “Oracle saved us.” “Did you see the veins vanish?” “How long can she survive?"
I push away Kylan’s support enough to stand upright, though knees shiver. I face assembly, chest heaving. “This is parasite’s truth. It enters through shard residue and fear. We fight it not by hacking worlds but by knitting them.”
Silence, and then cheers from Umbramere delegates. Terrastria stomps staves. Even Pyreborn envoy claps gauntlets. Yet I hear undercurrent—whispers counting my blood loss, tallying crystal spread. They see mortality.
Serivon lifts rod. “Council thanks Oracle Carmilla. Dais cleansed. We postpone Sundering vote pending weave-anchoranalysis.” He signals escorts to carry Sethis away, now limp but alive.
Violet Arbiter moves to speak—likely to propose caretakers. I tune out. Pain howls through arm, every pulse sending crackle of glass grain under skin.
Kylan guides me off dais as healers converge. One offers salve. I wave off—they cannot mend crystal. Only time or sacrifice will.
We reach alcove away from mob. He presses clean linen to wound. Blood seeps russet. He whispers, throat rough, “You shattered parasite. But—” He glances at new spread creeping across bicep toward shoulder.
“I weighed cost,” I murmur. Vertigo sways world; he tightens hold. “Better one inch of me than entire citadel to shadow.”
His eyes burn molten. “Council should bear cost, not you alone.”
“They will,” I promise, though uncertainty knots belly. “Today they tasted fear’s flavor. Tomorrow, they’ll sip courage."
Everest strides over, jaw tight with worry, yet pride warms eyes. Isabelle follows, handing me cup of thunder-root brew. I drink; bitter heat surges down spine, temporary analgesic.
Remi and Zale stand guard nearby, coil fragment now humming louder—reacting to purge wave perhaps, analyzing new resonance.
Serivon approaches, rod lowered in respect. “Oracle,” he begins, “We request your presence at healer hall, but also your counsel. With corrupted influence exposed, Sundering’s lead proponent removed. Your anchor plan gains ground.”
I nod, though vision tunnels. “We speak at dawn,” I say. “I must recharge lattice before next surge or you’ll lose translator.”
He inclines head. “Healers will craft energy weave around your chamber.” He departs to organize.
