Instead of giving in, my fingers curl and I drag myself further.
Pain becomes a map. It shows me where to shift my weight, where to bend. I learn quickly, adjusting my gait so the barbs slide a little instead of catching right away. Two more leap up and sting like wasps, their barbs scraping and peeling, but I keep moving.
I glance toward Zyrel, just in time to see him yanked off his feet. Too many wires have coiled around him, dragging him down hard. I brace for the sound of his body hitting the bed of shattered glass, but it never comes.
A dozen serpents, slick and black, move in front of him—his dragon’s spawns. They slither ahead in a writhing shield, sweeping the shards aside as they go. Their scales split and bleed against the glass, but they keep moving, relentless, clearing a safe path for their master.
I drag my gaze back to the throne, only twenty feet away. The statue’s eyes hold me. An ancient, familiar magic that remembers every promise I’ve made: to myself, to every cursed woman before me, to my mother.
They flare as I lunge forward. The wires around me answer with fury, snapping tight in one final pull.
My body shakes with the effort to resist. Muscles lock, but soon my knees hit the dirt hard, and grit grinds under my nails as I claw forward. Pain climbs my spine, but I refuse to lie still.
Then I see it. A pool of liquid silver glimmering ahead, the same molten color as Zyrel’s god. His magic.
I glance to the side. Zyrel, bleeding and shaking, facing his own pool— a red twin of mine. My Blood magic.
An offering. A temptation.
He doesn’t hesitate. A mad grin splits his face as he plunges his hands into the red pool. The magic absorbs him whole. Every drop of red that vanished into Zyrel feels like theft. His wounds close, his skin flushes.
He rises unbroken, renewed, energy blazing through him.
The sight guts me. My magic— my other half— ripped from me and poured into someone else. Rage churns in my stomach.
The soft, silver pool before me gleams. If I take his Transformation magic, I could end this. Change wire to water and cross the distance in a single breath.
But even through the exhaustion, another voice rises inside me. The voice that has carried me this far. Would I truly prove my worthiness to my magic by taking this? Or would I be trading it for convenience?
The thought curdles. And the taste of almost surrendering burns bitter on my tongue.
I push to my feet. The wires tighten in answer, sensing my resolve. Pain follows every motion.
On my right, Zyrel, bloodied but unbroken, is a single step ahead.
I scream and surge forward, pouring everything I have left into that sound. For a heartbeat, Zyrel falters, startled, and I feel the fragile hope of that hesitation.
Behind us, the arena convulses. I glance back instinctively, just in time to see Kaelzar turn toward me again, palms pressed to the stone. Shadows coil around him, and from that darkness, massive roots erupt, cracking the ground like during the Spectra Judicium.
But this time, they don’t rise to lift me. They tear toward Zyrel, heaving the earth beneath his feet. The tremors make him stumble.
The dragon seizes its chance. It lunges, jaws snapping around Kaelzar’s shoulder, and hurls him through the air. For a dreadful second, our eyes meet, and his hold not a trace of regret.
He slams against the stone rim of the arena, and my heart stutters.
Cold clarity cuts through me. If I fail—if I don’t reach my Bloodmagic—there will be nothing left in me to heal him.
I refuse that future.
Teeth clenched, I force one foot ahead, then another. Agony sharpens into fuel.
Zyrel finds his footing quickly once the ground steadies. He steps onto a broad sweep of smooth stone where the twin thrones stand. The platform stretches wide and empty around them, at least a dozen paces across.
And when all of his body crosses over, the wires around him fall away. He exhales with a grunt of satisfaction and strides toward Thul’Barak’s throne.
I push forward with a desperate growl. Because the image of Kaelzar’s broken body burns in my mind. This will not be how our story ends.
Zyrel hears me. He pauses and turns, his dark eyes slick with malice. A cruel smile twists his face.
