Kael doesn’t respond straight away, as if weighing his words.
He exhales, long and controlled, “I think you forget that I make the fucking rules, Zakarius,” his voice pure menace. “And you? You execute them,” he pauses for another moment, and I think he’s done, but he adds, “like an obedient dog.”
Zakarius doesn’t react right away. Doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t scowl. He just... looks at Kael. Long. Unblinking.
Then, ever so slightly, his lips curve—just the barest flicker of something that might be amusement. Might be rage.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice smooth as cut glass. “An obedient dog only heels for so long before it bites.”
Kael doesn’t take the bait—instead, he shrugs off the threat like it’s beneath him.
He smirks, “Bite all you want, Zak. A dog’s still a dog.”
Zakarius exhales, a slow, measured thing, as if filing Kael’s words away for later. “We’ll see.” A pause, just long enough to feel like a promise. “We always do.”
I could slice the tension in the air with my blade, tempers running hot, primal urges to fight rippling off both men.
“Are you two done measuring dicks yet? Or can we get the fuck out of here?” For the first time ever, I’m actually relieved to hear Jax speak.
“Here! Here!” Merrik chants in agreement.
Thank the gods.
As if snapping out of some sort of spell, Zakarius’ demeanor changes from stone cold to tactical. “I’ve mapped a route out ofhere that will avoid every checkpoint and watch tower inside The Decay.”
“Well, lead the way, Zak,” Therion encourages, exasperation heavy on his tongue.
Zakarius spins on his heel, movements sharp and controlled.
Not a glance back.
“Try to keep up.”
I grit my teeth.
Guess we’re going to Thornewood.
Gods help us.
PART III
HOME
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
ELYSSARA
Nyx moves with effortless grace,his hooves barely stirring the dust as he glides across the fractured earth, as if he knows—down to his bones—that this land is home. The Shadow Wastes are everything I expected: desolate, barren, a landscape flayed open by curse and ruin.
The ground beneath us is cracked and thirsty, gaping wounds of scorched rock and ashen soil stretching in every direction. Wind howls through skeletal trees, their blackened limbs brittle and lifeless.
I close my eyes for a breath, summoning the memory of Skaedor’s Crest, of the view from that towering height. The image aligns seamlessly with what lies before me now—this place is a wound. Gaping. Festering. Stripped of all it once was.
I try to reconcile how these people—Kael, Therion, Jax, Merrik, Daelen, Zakarius—were born to these lands. How people of such skill, intellect andcolorcan be born of such lifeless monotony.
Everywhere I look, there is just... gray. Not even the sun can pierce through the gray scale clouds and smoky mist that permanently cloaks the sky here.
Kael’s grip around my waist tightens, as if he can feel the weight of my revulsion pressing through the tether.
