I round a final bend—and stop.
The inner ward glows at the far end of the chamber, bright as a newborn sun.
It is not a door, not exactly. More like a wall of pure, condensed magic—a lattice of fire, water, air, and earth braided together.
My sigils burn hottest at the center, cinder-bright, holding back a radiance that would sear flesh from bone.
No one but a Broken Plains Demon should be able to stand this close.
No one but one of mine could lay hands on it and live.
And yet, kneeling before the ward, hands plunged wrist-deep into the glowing lattice, smoke rising from his skin.
A Demon of my lands.
I know his face—or I knew it, once.
Grier Pyros.
Only he does not resemble the minister I met with just a day ago.
Now his eyes are wild and wrong.
Black to the edges. No iris. No white.
His lips are cracked, teeth bared in a snarl that does not belong to him. The heat from the ward is eating him alive—blistering his arms, cracking his teeth, charring the edges of his hair.
Yet he kneels on.
And laughs.
Except—that is not Grier’s laugh.
That sound scrapes down the tunnel like something sharp dragged over stone.
“Step away,” I growl, voice low, wings flaring to fill the space.
His head jerks, and when he speaks, his voice is Grier’s and not-Grier’s. Two voices layered imperfectly atop one another.
“Too late, little spark,” Idris purrs through my kinsman’s mouth. “I have my hand on your heart.”
Grier’s fingers twitch in the ward, forcing themselves deeper.
The entire lattice shudders.
Pain explodes behind my eyes as The Ember Vein wails—a sound only I can hear, rippling through every nerve.
“His body cannot withstand this, Idris,” I bite out, stepping closer despite the flare of sickly magic radiating from him. “He is not your conduit. He is my subject. Let. Him. Go.”
Grier’s head tilts at an unnatural angle, vertebrae popping.
“I needed a hand that the Vein would allow,” Idris’ voice says lazily through Grier’s mouth, eyes rolling white then black then white again as he fights with the failing host. “Only your precious Plains-born can touch the marrow without burning. It seemed efficient.”
Rage blinds me for a beat.
“You use my people as tools and call it efficiency?” I snarl, flames leaping higher around me. “You desecrate the only hands that can feed this realm, and expect me to stand here and listen to your justifications?”
Grier’s lips stretch into a too-wide grin.
