Storne caught her wrists, his voice cutting through their grief like a blade.
“Look.”
Below, Viktor hovered above the lake, body stretched over the water as if the air itself bore his weight. Light fractured around him—water and fire meeting in impossible balance. Spray burst against him, yet no wave touched his skin.
Amerei froze, breath torn from her lungs.
Gabriel’s fury faltered into silence.
But Viktor—
Viktor felt the impossible weightlessness, his body held by some power he had never sought.
Shock carved through him.
This isn’t real. It can’t be.
His heart hammered in disbelief, terror breaking through rage.
The strength gave way.
He collapsed, plunging into the lake at last.
The cold tore through him, real and merciless.
He struck out for the bank, every stroke a cry of denial, every kick raw defiance.
When he hauled himself to shore, water streaming from him, he rose—
eyes locked on Storne above.
The lake shifted.
The current bent away from him, parting in ripples as though commanded by his fury.
Amerei’s hands flew to her mouth.
Gabriel muttered a curse.
Storne wheeled his stallion at the cliff’s edge, watching, unshaken, as if the plunge had been exactly what he intended.
Rage throbbed in Viktor’s chest, hotter than the fire in his lungs. He dragged himself onto the stones, pulse pounding like drums in his ears, body trembling with something far greater than exhaustion.
“Is that all you have for me?”
His voice tore raw, desperate with anger.
Storne’s gaze narrowed, unreadable. Then, without a word, he wrenched a practice blade from the saddle and flung it down.
The sword clattered at Viktor’s feet.
“You want to rage at me, Captain?” Storne’s tone cracked like a whip. “Do it with steel in your hand. Show me what you are.”
Viktor seized the blade, its weight anchoring him, dragging his fury into form. He rose, dripping, weapon trembling in his grip.
Storne dismounted in one fluid motion, drawing his own blunt steel. His stance was calm, almost careless.
“Come then. Let me see if fate truly chose you.”
