Then he looks past me, toward the clubhouse, and I know with horrible certainty he’s seeing Sloane.
Seeing what she is.
What she could become.
When he finally lowers his hand and steps back, Moros’ eyes widen fractionally. Thanatos’ expression shifts to something that might be surprise. Even Erebus’ void-like presence ripples with what could be confusion.
Nyx’s shadows recede slightly. “First? What did you see?”
Khaos doesn’t answer. He never does. But he looks at Nyx and makes a single gesture, a slight inclination of his head toward me.
She understands immediately. “You want us to test him? To see if she’s worth the chaos she represents?”
Another small nod.
“Very well.” Nyx’s voice goes cold, formal, the voice of judgment that has condemned thousands over the millennia. “Crave, formerly called Draven, you stand accused of violating theLaw of Silenceby creating a Blood Witch and exposing our world through reckless action. You stand accused of breaking theLaw of Balanceby saving a human who was meant to die. You stand accused of threatening the peace we’ve maintained for centuries…” She pauses, letting the weight of each accusation settle. “How do you answer these charges?”
I stand straighter, meeting her eyes without flinching. “Guilty… to all of it. I saved her because I chose to. And I would do it again in a heartbeat… if I had one.”
Thanatos’ expression darkens. “Then you condemn yourself.”
“Perhaps,” I acknowledge. “But I’m requesting a trial by Convocation. Ancient law. If I’m to be judged for my crimes, let it be done properly, with evidence presented and a defense offered. You pride yourselves on following your own rules, twisted as they are. So, follow them now.”
Moros’ lips curve in something that might be respect. “Clever. The Convocation hasn’t been invoked in five centuries, but the law still stands.” He looks at the others. “Wemusthonor his request.”
“A Convocation takes time,” Erebus points out. “Time for the Blood Witch to grow stronger. Time for chaos to spread.”
“Then we accelerate judgment,” Nyx decides, her purple eyes flashing. “You accuse Viktor of subterfuge, of framing you to force our hand? Thenproveit, brother. At dawn, you will face him and his forces when the sun rises. If the Blood Witch loses control during battle, if she ignites the Crimson Dawn and burns the veil between life and death, both she and you die. If she maintains her humanity while fighting, if sheprovesshe can wield such power without destroying everything, and if Viktor’s treachery is exposed in the process…” she trails off, glancing at Khaos.
The First nods once more.
“Then wewillreconsider,” Nyx finishes. “But until dawn, Draven, you are Bound.”
Before I can ask what that means, Thanatos lifts his hand, and agony detonates through my body.
It doesn’t arrive all at once. It unravels me.
The pain blooms deep in my core, not in muscle or bone but in the essence of what I am, hooks sinking into somethingancient, vital, and dragging outward. Every cell ignites at once, screaming as my power is torn free. It isn’t the sharp violence of a wound or the burn of flame. It’s the horror of subtraction.
Of being reduced.
And then the darkness leaves me.
A thick, black vapor begins to bleed from my skin, seeping out of my chest, my shoulders, my throat. It coils and twists in the air, threaded with faint veins of red that pulse as it’s ripped away. The substance moves with intent, dragged by an unseen force, peeling out of me in violent strands that stretch before snapping free.
I canseemy Original power leaving.
The vast, crushing weight I’ve carried for millennia drains with it, pouring out of me in a nauseating rush. The gravity of being one of the Originals thins, weakens, and vanishes strand by strand. I feel the world grow heavier as I grow smaller inside it, the darkness that once answered me without question faltering, then guttering out entirely.
The smoke surges toward Khaos, drawn to him by a tide pulled by a black moon. It wraps around his form, sinking into his shadow, swallowed whole as if it has finally found a vessel vast enough to contain it. His silhouette darkens, edges blurring, the air around him bending under the sudden increase in weight.
My body reacts violently to the loss.
My vision fractures. A sound rips out of my throat, raw and broken, as my knees give way beneath an unfamiliar weakness. Concrete slams into my kneecap when I drop, the impact jarring in a way it never would have been before. My chest locks, lungs spasming as air tears free in a reflex I haven’t needed in centuries, my body panicking at the absence of something it has never existed without.
The pain deepens, not burning, not stabbing, but aching. A hollow, unbearable ache spreads through the places where my Original strength once lived. It feels as though something vital was torn out, and I am being forced to remain upright anyway, standing in the aftermath of a limb ripped from my body.
My speed remains.
