He’d tasted her magic in the dream. Felt it. That kiss of divinity still hummed on her skin. She was not meant to be Kael’s consort.
She was the Veil Breaker. Their only chance to drag themselves from the curses that haunted the land.
She was something crafted from Eiren herself: an aperture, a key, an answered prayer. Now she was tethered to the very man who’d murdered a trembling peace with his blade and fragmented the spine of Alarik’s future.
He could not allow that bond to finish forming. He would not let her power be harnessed for the throne of a kingdom already rotting from within, never to be pushed to her full potential.
“Call off the distractions,” he said, turning sharply. “The border raiders, the decoy… end it.”
Zairon flinched. “Are you sure?”
“This isn’t about noise anymore,” Alarik said, voice sharpened to a deadly point. “It’s about silence. We go in with shadow— nothing more.”
“You’re planning an extraction.”
“No,” Alarik murmured, a cruel edge lacing his words. “I’m planning a theft.”
Alarik's fingers moved slowly, as he reached beneath his tunic and slipped his hand inside the inner lining. From a hidden pocket he withdrew a small glass vial — slender, delicate, glowing faintly.
The liquid inside shimmered an otherworldly blue, like melted sapphire. It rippled as he tilted it in his palm, catching glints of faelight woven into its core — liquid starlight, volatile and beautiful. The glass etched in runes that plused faintly, responding to the warmth of his skin.
This wasn't some simple spell. The magic contained was a relic from Calanthe's oldest vaults, enhanced with fae alchem, bound to threads of the dreaming world. Once taken, it wouldn't just project his mind. It would movehim— flesh and bone straight into the heart of Nythra's Castle.
A dream-walk, yes. but anchored. Dangerous. Invasive. Brilliant.
And it would only work once.
He stared at the vial for a long moment, watching it swirl as if alive, waiting.
With it, he could reach her. Slip into her dreams like mist on the seas edge, guide her into his arms, and pull her free before Kael even noticed the shape of her absence.
She wouldn't feel fear. Wouldn't even stir. Just a whisper in her mind. A door opened. A hand offered.
It was reckless. But gods it would work.
“I told Kael once,” he said softly, holding the vial to the light. “I would take what he loved most.”
His voice dropped.
“And now I will.”
Zairon didn’t stop him. Only followed as Alarik swept to the balcony.
He pulled the stopper from the vial with a soft pop. The liquid pulsed once, sensing its purpose. His jaw tightened and he lifted the vial to his lips and drank. The potion slid down like cold fire — cool at first then searing.
The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered against the stone.
A gust of air burst outward, rattling the chamber, extinguishing every candle and enchanted light. Zarion stepped back eyes shielded. Alarik's vision blurred, the world around him warped folding in on itself. Space unraveled. Time bent.
He reappeared with a soundless rupture, like the air had torn and stitched itself closed in the span of a heartbeat.
One moment, there was nothing.
The next, Alarik stood at the edge of Nythra's northern fortress — Calyrix Castle — its spires clawing at the sky like blackened bone. The cold was immediate, biting throughhis leathers. Frigid mountain air filled his lungs in a rush, laced with the sting of iron and frost.
He inhaled slowly, grounding himself.
The city around him continued about as if he was not there at all. His heart pounded, but his face was still — expression craved of ice. He glanced up at the castle, feeling the pull to his soul to her. The potion continued to pulse through his veins, making his hands tremble slightly.
