They made their way toward the Skyfall Waters, where little orbs of light glittered in the air, their glow reflecting off the surface of the water. The magic of runes danced along the currents, adding a soft shimmer to the scene. The falls was a low hum in the background, blending seamlessly with the swaying music and the enticing smells of spices that filled the air. They sat on the fountain wall, admiring the festival when Kyron turned to Sorcha.
“Would you go with me to Samhain this year? It’s held in the mountains of Cailleach’s Keep?”
Sorcha hesitated, scanning his face for any sign of tricks or deception, but his expression was calm and sincere. She’d never been to the festival herself, though she had always longed to experience it after hearing countless stories. After a moment of deliberation, she nodded.
“Alright, I’ll go.”
Kyron’s lips curled into a satisfied smile. “Perfect. I’ll meet you, and we’ll ride there
together.”
He leaned in, his lips just a breath away from hers, his voice a whisper, “I have to talk to you about something”
But as he spoke, a low, harsh growl reverberated through the air, cutting through the sound of the falls. Before Sorcha could process what was happening, icy hands grabbed her waist with an unnatural force. She gasped, but no sound escaped her lips as she was pulled into the fountain. The water swallowed her whole, dragging her under and toward the pounding of the falls.
Chapter 26
Festival
At that moment, screams erupted from the crowd. Twisted grotesque bodies poured from the fountain in cascades, clawing their way across the cobblestones in an unstoppable wave. Their hulking forms were a patchwork of decay, some with barnacle-encrusted flesh, as if dredged from the ocean’s abyss. Others bore serpentine heads, their slit pupil eyes gleaming with sinister smiles. Townsfolk ran as talon-webbed fingers curled around rusty swords and sliced the air as others bore bone weapons. Horrifying smiles adorned their faces, revealing blacked fangs jutting from their gaping mouths.
The air reeked of salt and rot as they rushed forward. A crashing wave of destruction, their broken bodies shifting and snapping unnaturally as they descendedupon the festival. Blood splattered across the cobblestones as chaos erupted.
Circle leaders engaged in fierce battle, their weapons igniting in arcs of light, while cadets and townspeople fought desperately alongside them. Yet the Fomorians didn’t falter. They tore through flesh with merciless precision delighting in the carnage.
Kyron’s attention snapped away from the battle to Sorcha. Her blade clashed against claws with such force her sword skittered across the stones. She was losing ground as a Fomorian loomed over her. Its sunken eyes locked onto hers, lips curling into a smile. Her legs kicked wildly, and her fists struck the creature with such force that decayed pieces of its flesh broke away. Yet the creature only smiled a grotesque, mocking grin as he held her under the water.
Kyron’s runes flared brightly, casting an eerie glow beneath the water as gray clouds and smoke began to swirl around him. With a fierce lunge, he closed the distance between himself and the Fomorian. Reaching beneath his shirt, he drew a Druidic boline knife sheathedunder his arm. The handle was carved from bone, and its curved serrated blade gleamed with deadly precision.
With movements as swift and fluid as the falls, Kyron slashed through the Fomorian’s neck, severing its head cleanly from its body. The creature’s grotesque smile faltered as its body went limp, sinking lifelessly into the water.
Wasting no time, Kyron grabbed Sorcha, pulling her upward. As soon as her head broke the surface, she choked violently, gasping for air before doubling over and retching water. Kyron held her steady as he kept her above the swirling chaos of the fountain.
Sorcha’s breaths came ragged as her fingers brushed against her throat where the Fomorian had pinned her down.
Barely above a whisper, she murmured, “Thank you.”
Before Kyron could respond, the screams reached her ears. The clash of swords biting into flesh, the shouts of her friends, the whistling of arrows loosed into the fray.Her eyes widened as she took in the chaos unfolding around her. Her drenched dress clung to her frame, heavy and restrictive as she stumbled forward, determined to reach the battle.
Kyron moved swiftly, intercepting her before she could trip again. Dropping to his knees, he pulled out his blade and, with a single decisive motion, he cut her dress to knee length, allowing her to move freely. Sorcha kicked off her soaked shoes, her bare feet hitting the wet stone with resolve. Kyron held out his daggers, and she took them without hesitation, her grip tightening as she ran toward the fight.
The battle raged on, chaos swirling through the glowing streets. The golden ribbons and lanterns of the festival were tattered and burned, their once brilliant light dimmed by the smoke and blood soaking the air. Fomorians surged unrelenting and merciless.
Bodies littered the streets like fallen autumn leaves, their twisted forms sprawled in unnatural poses. Crimson stained the ground, pooling beneath the lifelessshapes, their limbs bent and contorted like the jagged edges of winter.
The sight ignited a fire within Sorcha. She fought with everything she had, her blades a blur as she cut through the creatures, her runes flaring with every strike. To her left, Rhosyn’s runes flared. Vines of thorns whipping with the force of a hurricane, each one striking true. Drystan wielded his twin swords in fluid arcs, his movements both brutal and elegant as garnet sprayed the air. Sorcha sliced her way through the creatures, Kyron trailing her, casting mist to conceal them. Each step felt heavier as the chaos around her enveloped them.
In the fray she caught sight of Commander Nethran. His powerful form staggered as six Fomorians circled him, their claws slashing his skin. Blood poured from his wounds, soaking his uniform as he struggled to fend them off. His movements slowed as his breath labored. A fury broke through Sorcha, boiling her blood like molten gold and suddenly she was burning.
A brilliant blue fire erupted over her skin, engulfing her in an inferno that neither charred nor consumed her. Sorcha watched in terror as the flames crackled with a sound like a star splitting open, licking at the air as if drawn from the sun itself. This power was like nothing she’d felt before. It wasn’t the quiet nature of the land’s magic she had trained in for years. This was older, untethered from the rules that bound the others. She turned her hands over, touching her body to make sure it was real, her eyes searching for Kyron but they landed on the Fomorians and the rage built inside her, her magic consuming her.
The Fomorians turned their attention to her, but it was too late. Sorcha slashed through the circle, igniting each creature on contact. Flames leapt from her blades, consuming the creatures in agonized screams as they crumbled to ash. One lunged at her, its claws barely grazing her arm before it too was consumed by fire. The last creature fell, its decayed body collapsing into ashes.
As the final Fomorians disintegrated, the brilliant glow of Sorcha’s runes dimmed, leaving her trembling and breaths became gasps as she stood among the ash and blood, the heat of her magic still pulsing faintly beneath her skin.
She fell to her knees beside Commander Nethran, her hands moving instinctively to cradle his head as he slumped forward. His bloodied face was pale, his breathing shallow.
“Commander,” she whispered, her voice breaking. His eyes fluttered open briefly, locking onto hers.
