She should. Any sane person would. The Herald is an execution-level threat, designed by divine authority to destroy, and she’s a witch with a bloodline that costs her lifespan every time she uses it. She has no armor, no blade, no physical weapon except the mind that sees through every lie.
She plants her feet and raises her hands, and her silver eyes blaze with Auric Veil power.
“I see you.” Her voice is steady. Cold. The voice of someone who has looked at divine manipulation her entire life and refused to be deceived. “I see what you are. Crown-forged. Fragment of authority. Designed to execute, not to think. You’re not even real—you’re a weapon wearing a shape.”
The Herald pauses. Its head tilts.
“OBSERVATION IS NOT DEFENSE.”
“No.” Her lips curve in a smile that makes my dragon howl with fierce approval. “But seeing your structure helps me understand where you’re weak.”
She moves her hands in a pattern I don’t recognize—not a spell exactly, but a focusing of her sight, a projection of truth into the space between them.
And right now, she’s turning it on a creature built entirely of divine deception.
The Herald staggers.
For the first time since it manifested, it displays a reaction beyond absolute authority. Its form flickers, edges blurring, crown-forged armor losing coherence for a heartbeat before snapping back solid. The sigils on its armor pulse erratically, rhythm disrupted.
I see now what she’s doing. The Herald exists because the Arbiter willed it to exist, but that existence is enforced, artificial. She’s not attacking it. She’s revealing it, forcing it to confront the gap between what it claims to be and what it actually is.
“DISRUPTION. MINOR.” The Arbiter’s voice carries a note that might be annoyance—the first emotion I’ve heard through its proxy. “THE AURIC VEIL CANNOT DESTROY. ONLY REVEAL.”
“She doesn’t have to destroy you.” I’m on my feet again, the blood loss making my limbs heavy, but my voice is steady as death. “That’s my job.”
I hit the Herald from behind.
The next fewminutes are the most brutal of my existence.
My wounds scream with every movement. Blood makes my grip slippery on the Herald’s armor as I drag it away from Zephyra, away from my witch, putting myself between them with every ounce of strength I have left.
The Herald fights with cold efficiency. Its blade opens a gash across my back that I feel all the way to my spine—my power interrupts the aging magic, but the physical damage is real and devastating. Its elbow shatters ribs—at least two—the sound ofthem breaking is obscenely loud in the thickened air. Its knee drives into my wounded thigh and I nearly black out from the pain, vision narrowing to a tunnel with darkness at the edges.
I don’t stop.
Can’t stop.
Because every time it tries to disengage, every time it turns toward her, I’m there. Blocking. Intercepting. Taking hits that should kill me because the alternative is letting it reach her.
My dragon and I are no longer separate entities with competing priorities. We are one purpose: keep her alive. Keep her safe. Make the Herald pay for every inch of ground it gains.
“THE ERROR IS PERSISTENT.”
“The error,” I spit through blood and broken teeth, “is going to tear out your fucking heart.”
“THE ERROR DOES NOT COMPREHEND.” The Herald’s blade catches my cheek, opens it to the bone. I feel blood sheet down my face, taste copper and iron. “ATTACHMENT WEAKENS. THE WITCH IS MORTAL. FRAGILE. TEMPORARY.”
“Then I’ll make the time we have count.”
I catch its sword arm. My power floods through me—not enough to destroy the Herald, but enough to disrupt its magic for a moment, make its joints stutter, its magic waver.
A moment is all I need.
My fist crashes into its face with every ounce of rage I possess. The crown-forged armor cracks—hairline fractures spreading across its features like ice breaking under pressure. Its head snaps back. For the first time, it staggers.
“DAMAGE,” it observes, almost wonderingly. “THE ERROR CAN DAMAGE THIS FORM.”
“I can do more than damage.” My dragon speaks through me, voice layered and wrong and utterly committed. “Touch her and I’ll show you exactly what I can do.”
