With a cry of anguish, I drop the whip and fling my trembling hands forward, unleashing the magic I’ve always feared.
Decay spills from my palms.
Dark, spreading, unstoppable. It ripples through the ground, silentand deadly, curling toward Liona like sentient ivy.
Her eyes widen. Confidence fractures into pure terror, as if she didn’t expect my magic to come from anything but my whip. She gasps and stumbles back, clutching her chest as the rot licks at her boots. The leather cracks and flakes apart like dead leaves.
“I didn’t want this,” I whisper, voice breaking, tears clouding my vision.
But the decay doesn’t care. It climbs her legs, slithering upward with a cruel elegance. Her skin pales, then splits, as if the life is draining from her veins.
The dragon—her loyal Godbeast—releases Kaelzar and rushes toward her, helpless.
It paces around her in frantic circles, as if it can stop what’s coming. Its body shimmers faintly, flickering, fading. It looks up at her, lets out a mournful roar then begins to unravel. Its scales glint, then vanish, its form disintegrating.
Liona staggers, folding in on herself as the decay creeps across her chest. She drops to her knees, eyes locking with mine.
There’s no hatred there now, only fear.
The decay pulses faintly, as if savoring the moment. Her dragon lets out one last, low growl before its body dissolves completely into light and mist. The bond between them snaps.
Liona collapses, breath hitching once, then silence. The decay, satisfied, recedes into the ground like a tide pulling back, leaving behind cracked soil and a terrible stillness.
I drop to my knees, chest heaving as the tears come, hot and unrelenting. My heart aches with the weight of what I’ve done, every beat is a reminder that I crossed a line I can never uncross. The crowd’s horrified hush and its delayed roar barely reach my ears.
“I didn’t want this,” I whisper again, my voice trembling, as if saying it aloud could somehow take it back.
I stagger, clutching my side where the pain still makes it hard to breathe. The next moment, the life I just took repurposes itself, turning into Blood magic, healing magic that instantly fixes my wounds.
This is how it works, how it always works. The decay must comefirst. Death must be given before life can be reclaimed. It’s the cost of my magic: something must rot, something must die, so something else can live.
But the healing does nothing for the hollow in my chest. Nothing for the image of her eyes locked on mine as the life drained out of her.
My breath shakes as I try to rise, but my legs give out beneath me. I just kneel there, trembling, surrounded by the ruin I’ve caused. The silence feels deafening. Was this what Calista wanted? Was this what it meant to be her Champion?
I wipe at my face, smearing tears across my skin. My hands are stained. My magic is silent. I stare at the earth where Liona fell for another moment, before the world crashes back in.
When I lift my gaze, Zyrel and Seraphina already stand atop their pillars: two claimed, one still empty. Mine.
My breaths come in short, ragged bursts. I can feel the crowd watching, weighing every movement, every falter. But there’s no time for guilt. No room for shame. I half crawl, half stumble toward Kaelzar.
His face is twisted in pain, every muscle in his body trembling with the effort to keep control over his thoughts. The dragon’s bite took his flesh but not these damned chains. They are still cutting into him.
I press my forehead to his, trying to steady both of us.
“I’m sorry I let her say all those things,” I whisper, pushing the remaining Blood magic into his body, healing the wounds just as the sharp chains open new ones. “You’re a good person, Kaelzar. Don’t let her make you forget that. Just tell me what to do. Tell me how to stop the chains.”
“I’ve done it many times before,” he grits out. A wet, sickening sound comes from his wounds, flesh tearing apart. It turns my stomach. “I just need a minute, Trouble. Don’t worry about me. Go.”
He nudges me toward a remaining pillar. I push and push my Blood magic into him until I have nothing left. And while the chains keep cutting, keep grinding, at least the gaping wound over his shoulder is closed.
“Go. Now.”
I tell myself it’s better to give him space, to let his mind settle without me hovering, so I rise and turn toward the pillar. The straight path leads directly through the blackened heap where Liona had stood only moments ago.
As I pass it, I hold my breath. Moving my legs is the only thing keeping me from collapsing beside her remains and begging for forgiveness.
I force my eyes forward to the pillar, to the box waiting at its peak. And as I leave what’s left of Liona behind, I repeat the same five words in my head, over and over.
