I nod sharply, forcing my mind to steady and my body to follow suit. The two men flanking me—Kael and Torvyn—move with fluid precision, their motions so practiced and deliberate, as if they’ve done this countless times before.They probably have.
I tighten my grip on the Starforged Blade, the hilt warm in my hand, and settle back into the rhythm of the fight. Whatever questions I have about these rebels, about Torvyn’s presence or Kael’s connection to him, will have to wait. Right now, survival is all that matters.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ELYSSARA
The bodiesof Covenant soldiers litter the ground, blood pooling in the dirt and staining the cobblestones like a grim tapestry. The air is thick with the metallic scent of death. The rebels move efficiently among the fallen, binding the hands of the survivors with rough rope. Only one is left conscious and unbound, kneeling in front of Torvyn, Therion, Kael, and me. His mask has been torn away, revealing a face bloodied and swollen, but his eyes burn with undiminished defiance. It’s him—the man from the bar.
Torvyn steps forward, towering over the captive. His broad blade rests casually against his shoulder, but there’s nothing casual about his presence. His shadow looms over the man, who sways under its weight. “Talk,” Torvyn says, his voice low, dangerous—a predator circling wounded prey. “Who sent you?”
The man spits blood onto the dirt, his sneer curling back over bloodied teeth. “Do you think I fear you?” His voice is sharp and brittle, like glass ready to shatter. “You’re rebels, clinging to a lost cause. The Lightborne will fall, and balance will be restored.”
Torvyn doesn’t flinch, his silence more menacing than any threat. He leans down, grabs the man by his chest plate, and yanks him forward with a jerk that forces him to meet his eyes. “Who thefuck sent you?” Torvyn repeats, his voice cutting like a blade through the cold night air.
The captive laughs—a hollow, grating sound that grinds against my nerves. “You’re already dead,” he says, his tone dripping with malice. “Thalmyr will see to that. He sent us ahead of the Royal Guard to bring her back.” His gaze shifts to me, and the sneer widens, filled with cruel satisfaction. “The Lightborne escaped conscription. That’s treason, punishable by death. Or maybe he’ll use her for breeding first.”
Beside me, Kael stiffens, his presence coiled like a predator about to strike. But it’s my magic that reacts first. It rises like a storm, crackling at my fingertips and lighting the air with an angry hum. “You don’t get to decide my fate,” I snap, my voice trembling with fury as the faint glow of my Lightborne mark illuminates the man’s face.
For the first time, his bravado cracks, fear flickering in his eyes like a candle caught in the wind.
Torvyn doesn’t release him. His grip tightens on the chest plate, his knuckles white with tension. “Keep talking,” he growls, the words like gravel in his throat. “What does the Covenant want with her?”
The man’s opposition resurfaces, twisting his bloodied face into a grotesque mask of defiance. His voice takes on an eerie, incorporeal quality, rising in fervor as if possessed. His smile stretches wide, unhinged and maniacal, as he recites:
“When the Lightborne rises, the Stars shall mourn,
Balance shall break, and the realms be torn.
To preserve Aevryn, sacrifice is our shield,
Order demands blood, and fate must yield.”
The words hang in the air, thick with fanaticism, as if the very ground trembles beneath their weight. Before anyone can react, Kael steps forward, his blade slicing across the man’s throat in a single, fluid motion. The Covenant soldier collapses with a gurglinggasp, blood spilling from his neck as the final echoes of his mantra linger like a curse.
The battlefield falls silent. The man’s body is still, but his words—those dark, twisted words—replay in my mind, relentless and unyielding.
Balance shall break, and the realms be torn.
I barely register Torvyn turning toward me. His gaze softens, a surprising warmth breaking through the hardened steel of his demeanor. “They’re a bunch of fundamentalist twats, love. Better to be fuckin’ rid of ’em.” His voice is steady, grounding. “Don’t let their horseshit sink in too deep.”
But the fear in the man’s voice when he spoke of me, the conviction in his creed—it lingers. Even as Torvyn’s words wash over me, their fanaticism clings to me like a second skin. And no matter how many times I try to tear it away, I know it’s already sunk too deep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
KAEL
“She’s goingto demand answers, you know,” Therion says, his voice slicing through the heavy quiet of the room. He leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, boots crossed at the ankles, eyes fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. It’s a familiar scene: the aftermath of a battle, a bottle between us, and more unspoken truths than either of us is willing to count.
“I know,” I reply, the words dragging out like a sigh. The weight of the bottle feels lighter than the conversation ahead. I take a slow drink, savoring the burn as it slides down my throat. I could use more of it, but no amount of liquor will dull this ache.
“If you still plan on seeing this through, you’ll need to tell her something solid,” Therion says, his tone sharper now, slicing straight to the heart of my hesitation.
“I fucking know, Ther. I know,” I snap, the edge in my voice cutting more than I intend. The words grind against my chest, frustration aimed as much at myself as at him. “And what do you mean ‘if I still plan on seeing this through’? Of course I fucking do. These are my people. My sister. Justice for all of us.”
He watches me, silent, his expression impassive save for the faint twitch of his jaw. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on hisknees. “I know you believe that, brother. But I think we both know it’s not that simple. Not anymore.”
My fingers curl tighter around the glass, but I force myself to meet his gaze. “What the fuck does that mean? Nothing’s changed. The goal is still the goal.” My tone is cold, a reminder of who leads this.
