I twist toward Kaelzar. His focus is locked on me, one arm outstretched, shadows still flickering at his fingertips.
Then panic hits. My scream must have drawn his attention, just long enough to give the dragon an opening.
Zyrel’s Godbeast roars and spits three of its scales into the air. They hit the ground with a metallic crack, instantly transforming into rabid, snarling dogs that hurl themselves at Kaelzar. At the same time, the dragon snaps the spider webs holding him down, turns its massive head toward me and lunges.
“Behind you!” I shout, hurling myself forward on instinct. I reach for Decay and find only silence, like the arena has swallowed that part of me too.
The wires yank me backward with brutal force, tearing at my skin and slamming me to the ground again.
I gasp, vision spinning, the world tilting around me. Through the haze, I find Kaelzar again. He’s still standing, still fighting. His shadow blades flash in quick, vicious arcs while black tendrils rise from the earth at his command, tangling around the dragon’s thrashing limbs.
Then the dragon changes. More heads burst from its body, scales splitting and peeling as they multiply in a nightmarish bloom of flesh.
The sheer power of the Beast’s magic is horrifying. And in that moment, I’m grateful that Zyrel never called upon it.
You don’t have to get up. The melodic voice slips into my mind. Too thin, too ethereal to belong to this world. I blink hard, searching for its source.
We don’t want to hurt you.Another voice adds, lower, winding around the first.Don’t make us do it. Stay. Rest. Don’t force us to harm you.
The wires? My gaze drops to them, coiling around my limbs.
We’re not your enemies. The voices whisper.We want what’s best for you. We’re here to stop you from making the worst mistake of your life. To keep you from sacrificing yourself for a cause that will destroy you. That has already begun to destroy you.
“I can’t stop,” I whisper back, my throat tight, their pleas threading into my thoughts.
You can.
You should.
You will.
I shake my head. No. These aren’t warnings, they’re traps. A weak attempt to slow me down. It’s almost insulting that the Sphere believes whispers like these could undo me after everything.
I force myself upright, ignoring the pull of their words. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zyrel stagger, shaking his head as if trying to shake off the same voices.
I push forward.
More wires erupt from the earth, lightning-fast, striking like lashes. They coil around my calf, my wrist, the hollow behind my knee. This time there’s no gentle tug—they bite. Barbs tear through fabric and skin with a sound like paper ripping, the serrated edges cinch tight.
Stop.They say.You will die.
They shape themselves into voices of people I know—my father, Eva, Ryker—each one speaking with that sly, aching tenderness that sounds like love.You’re too small.What waits on those thrones is ruin.
For a heartbeat, my knees buckle. The instinct to listen, to believe them, pulls at my mind like an undertow.
Kaelzar’s shadow blades flick at the edge of my vision. I know he’s still fighting, but I force myself not to look. The throne waits. The magic waits. The women of Rust Hollow wait. My mother’s memory waits. Peonica’s future waits with them. All of it rests on me moving forward. I shove that thought forward and press my feet into the grit.
With every step, the wires answer. They multiply. They braid across my forearms, down my calves, loop once, twice, three times.
A barb rakes across my inner thigh. Its teeth drag sideways andI hear my own gasp. Tiny, bright red beads bloom where metal sinks into flesh.
You’ll be the reason your loved ones die.The voices hiss.You will be their end.
I let them slide through me like oil. Every lie they throw, I answer with a step. Every caress of fear, I answer with another push.
The throne looms larger now. I can make out the curve of a cheek, the tilt of a horn, until Calista’s catlike eyes are finally clear. They are not cold. They are patient.Finish what you began,they seem to say.
A new wire wraps around my shoulder and draws tight, scoring a ragged line across my collarbone. The whispers rise into a chorus, chanting, coaxing me into stillness.
