A hush fell over the arena, and goosebumps erupted all over my flesh. The air grew cold.
Unnaturally so.
Overhead, the sunlight dimmed, and the shadows lengthened. They stretched too far, too thin, until they bled together, creeping across the ground.
Not even a breeze dared to disrupt the stillness. It was as though the realm itself was holding its breath.
Then I sensed it. A whisper that slithered over my skin, dangerous but alluring.
It feltwrong.
Above, a solitary raven circled, its black feathers gleaming as if they were shards of night. Its sharp eyes locked onto me with an unsettling intelligence.
Then the voice returned, booming overhead like thunder. “Your last test is not one of strength or cunning, but of magic. Defeat The Morrígan, and the throne shall be yours. Fall… and she will claim your soul.”
Then the raven’s cry split the silence, a harsh, chilling sound that echoed like a dirge. The air thickened with a strange tension, heavy and electric.
From the broken earth at the arena’s center, a twisted black tree erupted, its bark gnarled and cracked. It gleamed with an oily sheen, and its branches curled like withered claws grasping at the sky.
No leaves sprouted along its limbs, only brittle twigs that jutted out at odd angles. The tree grew at an impossible speed, roots writhing like serpents as it broke through the ground. Its eerie silhouette stretched taller, a dark monument rising in defiance of life.
The raven swooped lower, its wings slicing through the air as it landed on a twisted branch. Its form began to shift and waver, as if made of smoke and shadow.
Before my eyes, the bird transformed, its feathers melting away into flowing black silk as it drifted down from the tree. TheMorrígan stood tall and imposing, her presence both terrifying and hypnotic, a goddess of war and fate cloaked in darkness.
Her voice, both a whisper and a roar, seeped into my bones. “You stand before death’s queen, child, but do you have the power to face what lies beyond?”
Steeling myself, I twisted the ring on my finger, feeling its cold pulse of magic against my skin. The Morrígan’s eyes bore into me, a promise of the battle that awaited.
“Come now,” she said, her voice a caress wrapped in violence. “Show me what burns beneath your flesh or be consumed by what burns beneath mine.”
Shit. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t challenge the goddess of fucking war!
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped animal. The ring thrummed in rhythm with my fear, each beat sending icy tendrils of magic up my arm. I could have trained for a lifetime and still not be prepared to face the ancient malevolence radiating from the goddess of death.
“I am not yours to claim,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
The Morrígan’s lips curled into something too cruel to be called a smile. “They all say that before they kneel.”
She raised one pale hand, and the shadows beneath the twisted tree began to move. They peeled away from the ground, rising like black mist until they took shape: the silhouettes of warriors long dead, their edges blurring and reforming as they drew weapons made of darkness.
“My fallen,” she said with pride. “They have waited centuries for fresh company.”
Oh gods, I was going to die.
The shadowy assailants advanced, and I backed up, my mind racing. The ring grew colder, almost painful against my flesh. I didn’t know how to use the magic, but it knew me.
It whispered to me, a voice without words, urging me to stand my ground. Then my thoughts drifted to Ryker, and a sense of safety washed over me. Deep in my soul, I knew he was everything I needed, even if I didn’t understand why.
I clenched my fists, shaking off the strange sensation and refocusing my attention on The Morrígan. The ring bit into my skin as power pulsed wildly beneath its surface. The air around The Morrígan shimmered, warping and bending, as her army of shadows fanned out in a wide circle.
They didn’t speak, didn’t breathe. The only sounds were the quiet rustle of phantom steel and the soft crunch of dirt beneath their boots.
My pulse throbbed in my throat. “I do not covet the throne,” I confessed in a hoarse whisper.
“No,” The Morrígan hummed, stepping closer. Her bare feet kissed the earth as she surveyed me. “You crave freedom. But freedom always has a cost. Let’s see if you are willing to pay it.”
The first warrior lunged.
