When Alastor lifted his blade, Brenton moved swiftly and with control. He caught Alastor’s wrist before the strike could land and shook his head.
“Allow me to do this for you,” Brenton said, his tone calm and sure.
I understood why he offered it. This wasn’t mercy. That was obliteration. Destroying her soul. Ending her forever.
As much as I felt Alastor’s fury, it was twined with grief. Not just for his brother, but his sister too.
I stepped beside them, my magic curling at my palm. “We’ll do it together.”
Eiran’s shadows rippled. “None of you?—”
“You don’t get it,” I snapped. “I cannot leave this realm with her free to kill and torment. She has done enough, Eiran.”
My magic surged before I could think about what I was doing. It was instinct. A desperate swipe across Leanora’s chest.
But, again, the blast never landed.
Eiran’s shadows collided with my magic and swallowed it whole.
He stood between us, his shadows wrapping protectively around Leanora and Zaicha. His gaze found mine. Not a god now, but a father trying and failing to reconcile these two dividing sides of himself.
Brenton’s smoke thickened around me in that same protective manner.
My magic rose. Not in rage, not in fear. But life and death were intertwined. Unstoppable once set in motion.
“Eiran,” I said softly. “You taught me to appreciate my magic. How to wield both death and life.”
His eyes widened, seeing my plan before it fully formed in my head. He hesitated, then nodded.
I raised my hands and called my magic, feeling the surge when Eiran’s joined mine. Not to strike but to bind with mine.
The realm trembled, light bleeding through the crack in the sky Leanora had made. Zaicha’s breath shuddered, and when she rushed forward, Eiran’s magic wrapped around her and held her back.
Zaicha gasped as silver bands formed from the air and coiled tightly around her wrists and throat. She struggled, snarling and cursing, but the shackles held. Ancient and absolute and held by Eiran’s will.
“What are you doing?” Leanora asked, her hand on Eiran’s shoulder as he held her against his chest, his hand cupping her lower back. His arms locked around her, his grip unyielding yet somehow tender as the same bindings slid into place around her, glowing faintly as they secured her.
“I am doing what I must to protect all those I love,” Eiran said.
Leanora’s expression shattered. Confusion warped to fury.
“You can’t,” she said.
Alastor stepped beside me, his hand finding mine as he joined his magic with mine.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words hushed but steady.
Brenton’s smoke wrapped around the red threads of my magic, merging into one single current. Alastor’s sigils flared, and I felt a wave of heat flood me as they strengthened me.
The crossing, this threshold of the astral realm, cracked. Light flooded from the ground and walls like blood flowing from an open wound. My magic, joined with Brenton’s, Alastor’s, and Eiran’s, tore through the air, unraveling the threads that held this corner of the realm together.
I felt the weight of my actions instantly. Every soul in this realm would be suspended in an unknown, unable to pass until Eiran rebuilt this space. If rebuilding it were possible. The astral realm was Eiran’s domain, but this was the meeting ground for the dead. The place between endings and beginnings. And I was ending it, closing the doorway that let the dead pass through. But it would also prevent Leanora and Zaicha from escaping.
Eiran searched my face and nodded again. Slow and heavy.
“I waited too long to know you,” he said, his voice breaking through the roar of the collapsing world. “In that time, I tried to be what you needed.”
His words cracked through the crevices of my chest. My magic trembled between my hands, pulsing in rhythm with my shattering heart. The edges of the crossing burned, and when I hesitated, he moved.
