And then the prince’s nerve shatters, raising his blade. “Kill them.”
The Caelorian lines surge forward.
Their armor catches the light of my magic—mirrored steel etched with veins of living silver. The reflections of my own gold burn across them, refracted and wrong, like the light itself refuses to touch them cleanly.
One kneels, touching the wet earth, and I watch the silver pulse beneath his skin as if alive.
Augmented.
Altered.
Not human, not fully.
And then they move.
Kael’s roar cuts through the blaze, all muscle and blade and mortal fury. No shadows, no god-gifted magic—only him. Flesh, grit, and a single zarethite sword slicing through the night. He fights like the battle owes him blood. His sword an extension of him. His movements calculated, lethal. His focus, unyielding and impenetrable.
He is beautiful. A storm made flesh.
My mother doesn’t leave my side. Standing ahead of me like a sacred guardian, winding her whipstone once, twice—then she looses it. The air screams as the weighted end finds its mark, cracking through helm and skull alike.
Teddy moves with his usual lethal precision—Aetherstride blurring his form, his axe splitting through armor before a single drop of rain can fall.
Seren’s crossbow snaps; each bolt a whisper of death, each duck and weave a pre-meditated plan.
Ronyn aims true, god metal arrows gleaming faintly in the dark, the hiss of their flight almost holy.
And Jax—gods, Jax. Her grief burns white-hot. I can feel her seeking my magic, channeling it into her own veins, and my light surges through her hands like lightning caught in flesh. Her scream splits the air as she wields her chakram, wreathed in my gold.
Her fury is wild. Her grief unhinged.
I know she’s fucking hurting. And I know she blames herself for it all.
The scent of crackling fire fills the air, mixing with blood.
We move as one—blade and light, shadowless and furious.
Kael slams his sword through one soldier’s chest, the effort brutal, sweat slicking his brow.
A Caelorian lunges toward him—too fast to be natural.
I don’t think.
The light moves before I do, exploding outward from my palm, tearing through the air in a golden wave.
It hits the soldier mid-stride and burns him to fine, glimmering particles that turn to ash.
The world stills for a heartbeat.
The others look at me, their faces lit in gold and horror.
This is what it feels like to beunbound; my magicrespondswith such ease.
No more cage. No more restraint. Just unbridled access to the power that’s lived in my veins all this time.
The light hums, alive, listening.
It waits for command.
