“Enough!” the scholar barked from the perimeter.
But she was no longer in control, her sigil flared. The power becoming too much to control.
Alarik surged forward.
His arms wrapped around her from behind, locking her to his chest.
“Maris,” he breathed, his voice raw, not kingly. “Breathe. Stay with me.”
He did not release her when the burn of her magic became too much, searing into his flesh — he only tightened his grip around her.
Her body quaked under the crushing power. Her eyes blazed silver and the sigil on her palm pulsed like a second heart. Alarik's embrace held around her.
She clawed her way beyond the void that had swallowed her, fingers scraping through the darkness of her magic. Her power — endless and unyielding refused to bow to her. But slowly inch by brutal inch, she wrenched back control. Regaining her footing as the burning light around her diminished.
Alarik turned her to face him. His violet-blue eyes did not convey the pain of his burned flesh, they only shone with relief.
Maris's gaze roamed over his arms and chest to his ruined flesh — now exposed by the tattered ribbons of fabric—bubbled and broken, offered a stark clarity of what her magic could inflict.
Before she could voice her regret, a shriek cut through the wind. The sounds of rock hitting the water and piercing claws digging into the cliff face echoed from the cavern walls.
They all turned as one — Zairon drawing his blade, Serenya ran to flank Maris, Alarik shifted to stand between her and the dark.
A veilspawn emerged from the sea’s edge dragging itself upward in jerking movements. Its build far larger than the one that targeted her in Calyrix. Its body was a grotesque tangle of shadow and sea foam, shifted in and out of form as if reality rejected its presence. Jaggedclaws, green-black glistened with something foul. The stench rolling off in waves of putrid rot. Worst of all was its mouth, far too wide for any mortal creature— stitched shut with delicate strands of silver thread as if holding something in.
But it did not strike.
It appeared to search, its gaze landing on Maris. As if on sight the muddle of silver stitches dissolved.
“You seek the Crown,” it rasped, voice like stones scraping bone. “You seek to unmake the curse.”
Alarik was already in motion, moving towards the dark creature, body poised to strike.
“I am only the first, other children will follow.” it whispered, black ichor trailing down its throat.
Zairon stepped forward, blade ready.
The terror turned its head slightly and said:
“Find the relic, Veil Breaker… and you will lose your bonded. Heed this warning as it will be your only one.”
It did not wait for an answer. In one erratic motion the creature hurled itself backward into the waves, dissolving mid-fall into ash that scattered across the surface.
Maris fell to her knees shaking.
Alarik knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulders tightly. “Maris..” he breathed.
She spoke through a sob, tears already rolling down her cheeks. “It said I’ll lose him.”
Alarik’s jaw flexed. “It lies.”
“We will find the crown. We face what comes.” He pulled her into his chest.
“I can't loose him Alarik.” she whispered, voice barely audible.
Alarik’s hands fisted behind her back.
“You won't.” He declared.
