The blade was made from a translucent, massive, midnight-black diamond that seemed to inhale the ambient light of the room.
An amethyst beam pulsed within the hilt like a trapped heart.
‘This is the Shadow-Drake’s Tongue. An ancient Paladian artifact, forged to sever the threads of the immortal soul. It’s crafted from the calcified quintessence of a Paladian Great-Wing. ’ Zavier rasped, handing the grip to Idan. ‘It doesn’t just cut; it feeds on the released spirit. The violet pulse you see? That’s the dragon’s ghost heart. Once it is thrust into its victim and senses a condemned star gem soul, it’ll ignite, and the blade will turn into a living whip of obsidian fire. To liberate the manacles, you must thrust this weapon into the king’s chest. Only by granting him final peace will the mechanism of the shackles fracture.’
‘What else do we need to look out for?’
Zavier crossed his arms over his massive chest and huffed.
‘Jinxes, wards, hidden traps to waylay you. Ancient curses and precocious talismans fortify the sepulcher. These defensesare calibrated to hunt fellow Sacrans and any entity possessing an immortal signature. They are relentless sentinels designed to shred the consciousness of any deity that enters.’
He pursed his lips deep in thought until his eyes gleamed and his gaze flicked to Sheba.
‘However, a loophole exists which might work in your favour. A mortal can bypass the sensors unnoticed. The hexes do not recognize a human heartbeat or a non-divine DNA sequence as a threat. To the wards, a human is too small and infinitesimal to notice.’
Molan and Idan exchanged a calculating glance.
Their gazes sliced to Sheba.
‘Why are you all staring at me?’ she murmured, her pulse rate kicking up,
The shared focus of the three males on her only intensified.
Sheba’s lungs constricted.
‘Nada. Not me,’ she stammered, taking a retreating step until her back hit the cold glass of the observation wall. ‘I have no plans on being the freakin’ assassin of some ancient god-King.’
‘Why not?’ Molan drawled, leaning back with a smirk. ‘You’re the only one who can make it happen, it seems, without getting incinerated. Tis probably why you came, you do have a purpose. Hell, it appears anointed in sacred destiny.’
‘Really? You’re going to lean on sanctity and ‘fate’ at a time like this?’ Sheba muttered.
Idan turned to her, his expression twinkling, lips twitching. ‘My love, it’s as if the stars are aligned.’
Molan threw her a lazy grin. ‘You did insist on joining the hunt, Sheba. This is what your participation trophy looks like.’
‘Fokkoff, both of you,’ Sheba huffed, crossing her arms over her chest to hide the tremor in her hands.
‘Will you execute the strike?’
Zavier’s demand was a burred, resonant growl.
Sheba stared into the dracolich’s molten-copper eyes and sensed his psionic presence brush against her mind, a reassuring, steadying tap that stilled her static doubt.
She drew a long inhale, her gaze flitting between the two warrior-gods she now called family.
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘Nada,’ Idan drawled, his lips quirking with the ghost of a smile.
Sheba exhaled, the heat of the forge reflecting in her defiant stare.
‘Fine. I’ll do it. But if I get possessed by the phantom of an ancient king, I’m haunting you both first.’
‘Attagirl,’ Idan murmured, sliding his hand around her waist to press a kiss to her temple, ‘your courage is immeasurable and sexy asfokk.’
24
A Sepulchral Cathedral
