Not dozens.
Not hundreds.
Thousands.
The soldiers in the chamber were nothing more than decoys—sacrifices to draw us out.
I should’ve fucking known when the cannons stopped that there was another plan—they were waiting.
We’re not wolves circling the campfire, we’re lambs to the slaughter.
A tide of Caelorian steel marches on us, torches blaze to life like they’ve been waiting for us to breathe after their distraction. Their banners ripple white and blue against a Starlit sky, but it doesn’t feel like an announcement—it feels like a warning.
“They’re coming from all directions,” Teddy murmurs, raising his axe like he’ll personally take on every one of them. “I can hear it in the way the wind whispers past their armor.”
Fuck.
“El and I can take them,” I growl between clenched teeth.
Teddy grunts in reply. He knows we can’t do that. He knows we’ll burn out in a matter of heartbeats if we try to take on thousands.
The castle’s shadow stretches over us—and still, there’s not enough of it to cover the truth:
We’re outnumbered.
We’re outmatched.
We’re about to be devoured.
Ronyn curses under his breath, and that’s when I know we’re fucked.
Seren’s eyes blow wide in horror.
Jax channels Lightborne magic and it plays on her fingertips—ready.
Elyssara’s jaw sets, the tether thrumming with unspoken defiance.
And me?
I raise a blade in one hand and lash my Death shadows with the other.
I’m the Endbringer.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
ELYSSARA
Hope isthe name we give to survival when we’re too proud to admit we’re afraid.
A chorus of moving armor descends on Kryntar Castle, echoing through the alcoves, and ricocheting off walls like the fates are repeating a warning.
But I’ve never been one to heed them.
I’m reckless when it comes to justice.
The Caelorians march toward us from the west like a tidal wave rushing toward the shore.
I prowl forward, chin lifted in defiance as if I am the one who can change the tide.
