Feeling someone’s eyes on me, I looked to the left and met Koa’s gaze. My old friend offered me a soft smile. I had been so damn happy to see him alive. I thought he had perished in the Gods War. He was the god who created Zekiel. Telling him what had happened to Zekiel on Onuna had been hard. Sadness and grief had emanated from him, but he had shaken his head and gripped my shoulder, assuring me there was nothing I could have done. His compassion and understanding added to the burn of guilt.
Koa had cared for Zekiel as much as we had, perhaps more, but one thing we could all agree on was that Zekiel had died a warrior’s death in battle. Dying from old age or illness was an insult to what we stood for. It did not ease the pain of his loss. I missed Zekiel. He had been the youngest of The Hand, but he’d been the one we all gravitated to when we needed a place of peace. As accomplished a fighter as he was, he’d had a gorgeous, easing nature about him. I missed my friend even as the guilt bit at my gut. How was I to tell Koa that we now loved the person who had been the instrument of Zekiel’s death?
I looked away from Koa, unable to hold his gaze any longer, and my eyes fell on Athos. She sat at the head of the table, her platinum blonde hair swept to the side and draped over her shoulder. A half crown perched on the right side of her head, the peaks swept back and up like wings. The gold links of her cream dress interlocked three times over, and the pauldrons arched over her shoulders like sharp beaks.
“Xavier.” Athos pressed her finely manicured fingertips together as she stood. The room fell quiet as everyone realized I was there and rose with her. Athos was as old as she was wise. The two combined to create one thing—power—pure, ancient, archaic, unbridled power. She had always been a force, but I felt how she had grown, changed, and become even more formidable. I offered her a warm smile as she stepped forward, her soft, blonde hair such a contrast to the sharp points of her armor. “I’m so glad you are here.”
“I’m glad you all found me. Truly,” I said.
“As are we, but there is still much left to do,” Athos added.
She flicked her hand, and the silver lines across the marble floor glowed as a seat rose near Blayne’s. It was tall, molded, and apparently, for me. I felt Blayne’s eyes on me as Athos nodded toward the chair. “Please. Have a seat.”
I swallowed and glanced around the meeting hall. “I feel out of place, my liege.”
Athos’s smile was genuine, reaching her eyes. “You don’t have to call me that. I am not the god king, and you are more than worthy. You are one of Samkiel’s Hand. The last we have found. You’ve earned every right to be at this table. Now, sit. Please.”
Kryella smiled at me from across the table as I sat. It was so strange to be in this position. Cameron and I always listened in on important godly meetings, standing off to the side. While Samkiel always welcomed our opinions and thoughts, we’d never sat in like this.
Athos strode to an open space beside the table as Kryella raised her hands. The room darkened, and sparks of magic curled above us, coalescing into images of a desolate world. Everything was flattened. Smoke billowed like clouds, and ash clogged the air.
“We felt a Shift on Turkon right after Samkiel’s life force was sucked from the sky.”
My mind reeled.Life force?My heart thudded. He was alive? I felt Blayne’s gaze land on me, but I refused to meet his gaze, my hands gripping the arms of my chair painfully tight.
The images continued to shift around us, directed by Kryella’s magic. I tipped my head, watching as we were shown different places, towns, and villages as Samkiel’s light disappeared from the sky. Onlookers pointed and gasped as they watched in awe. The moment it was ripped away, a clap of thunder split the clouds that had gathered in its wake, and glowing, silvery rain pelted down. Samkiel.
The images morphed back to the desolate wasteland, showing us a wider view. I noticed that the ash wasn’t just swirling in the air currents. It and everything not anchored into the ground were floating toward the sky.
Athos reached out as if she could touch it. “The magnetic field left on Torkun is unstable. Gravity shifted as well from the swell of power, and only a few other worlds match this from Unir’s era. Only one being is capable of this.”
I swallowed. Ultimate destructive power. World Ending power. Kryella twirled her hands once more, and Samkiel stood before the table. It was an old image from before Rashearim fell, and he’d closed himself off from the world. It was one they loved to use and one he hated. Unir made him stand still while an artist took his time in capturing his likeness. It is probably the most represented in all the texts that mention Samkiel.
I forgot how long his dark hair used to be. The longer parts disappeared past his shoulders, shorter strands resting near his chin. He held his father’s sword in his fist, Unir’s symbol engraved on the hilt. The one he most often carried now had been given to him when he ascended to the throne. A swath of gold and red cloth draped his broad shoulder, the colors of his home. Until the fall, he wore them proudly. He stood before us, his silver armor gleaming even in the image. Samkiel’s power was very familiar to me, and I thought what I was feeling was the memory of it. But as I looked around the room, I saw everyone sitting back in their seats, obviously feeling the weight of him. His power was felt even through the image.
“The World Ender, against all odds and reason, has not only survived the great devastation that unlocked the realms but has managed to reclaim his power.”
The room was silent as I stared at Samkiel’s image. My heart raced with happiness, a swelling bubble that wished to pop, and my eyes threatened to burn. I closed them, and my mind took the opportunity to eagerly provide the memory of him kneeling on the floor, his body secured with chains and bound by runes. They’d forced us through the portal, and I couldn’t move to fight. I couldn’t stay to help, to die alongside him.
A hand gripped my knee under the table, a light squeeze that pulled me away from the onslaught of waking nightmares. I opened my eyes to find the image of Samkiel gone. Athos was still speaking, but Blayne was looking at me, his brows knitted with worry.
I shifted my leg, pulling my knee from under his hand. I couldn’t help the shiver of unease that went through me at the simple gesture. He’d been nice to me since my return, but the gazes and touches had to stop. I was still … My fiancé’s corpse was barely cold. I’d had no time to mourn or process everyone I’d lost and everything that had happened, much less truly think about the fight Cameron and I had on that damn bridge.
I shook my head and steepled my hands under my chin. Blayne took the hint, but I still felt his eyes on me even as he faced the room. It was another sacred power Blayne possessed. He seemed able to be in two places at once, his power moving independently of his body in a very real way. I had seen a demonstration of it in a fight when Jaycee had taken me to watch Blayne train. He was the god of the hunt. No matter the weapon, if he wielded it, he hit true. It was incredible to watch in person. He sliced every target down the center and split arrows without even looking. I hadn’t realized his gifts allowed him to divide his attention in such a way that he could literally watch his own back, making it impossible for anyone to sneak up on him, but it was excellent knowledge to have. What else would you expect from a hunter?
“Our first priority should be the Shift we felt soon before that, Athos,” Othello said, leaning forward.
Kryella flicked her hand, and the image changed, but it came with sound this time. A thick and heavy roar started as just a rumble and built into the pulsing force of a sonic boom. Clouds bent and rolled, but not of their own volition. No, it was the powerful wings cutting through them that distorted and malformed their shapes.
Orange flames rippled across the council room as we all watched a massive, dark Ig’Morruthen snap its jaws, biting at the air. No, not it … her. I knew that beast, recognized Dianna. I sat up straighter, my heart racing. She was alive, too. Relief washed over me. Both of them had made it, and from the looks of it, she had evolved. Her form was larger, she bristled with more spikes, and she just seemed … more, even in the image. She chased another Ig’Morruthen with red-tipped scales, hiding within the black. It fled, dodging and twisting, trying to avoid fire, teeth, and claws. Another deafening roar shook the air. The clouds behind her parted, revealing crimson eyes and twisted horns. Kaden. His gaping mouth bristled with a forest of fangs, a ball of flame blooming deep in its throat. Just as he released the fire at Dianna, the images fell, and the room came back into focus.
Kryella panted, the magic it took for her to pull the images fading from her eyes. She sat and rested her arms on the table and took deep breaths. She seemed drained, as if she had been trying to keep up with a million things.
Everyone started talking all at once.
“They have returned …”
“… another problem besides Nismera’s growing threat …”
