His lip curls in a faint snarl. “Its death doesn’t have to be wasted.Take its life and use it to heal yourself.”
Defiance blazes in my chest.“I will not kill?—”
“You seem to have forgotten what I told you,” Kaelzar interrupts, “I will stop at nothing to see you win this Trial.” His gaze lingers, waiting. Daring me to prove him wrong.
But I say nothing. The silence is answer enough.
Without another word, he steps back into the shadows and vanishes, leaving me alone with the dying wolf.
I stare at the empty space where he stood, disbelief coursing through me.
My breath quickens as I look down at the wolf. Its amber eyes meet mine, clouded with pain, yet something in them feels almost… pleading. Tears blur my vision.
The raw magic pulses within me, as if it’s mocking my inability to act. Pain flares as I try to curl my fingers into fists, the movement too much. I lean closer to the wolf instead, heart twisting with quiet empathy.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking.
My trembling hand hovers over the wolf’s head, hesitation crackling through me. The magic inside me stirs, coiling in my chest like a serpent preparing to strike.
The wolf lets out a faint, shuddering whimper, its battered body twitching as though it knows what’s coming.
My tears fall freely now, soaking into its matted fur. My fingers brush against the rough, bloodied coat, and my magic surges in response, a primal force demanding release.
I jerk back, bile rising in my throat. I can’t. I won’t.
But the wolf twitches, its body wracked with a fresh wave of agony, and a broken sound escapes its throat. My vision swims. How much longer will it suffer if I do nothing?
Then the wolf cries out, a heart-wrenching sound of pain. A final plea. When I open my eyes again, my decision is made.
The first tendril of decay creeps from my fingertips, dark and alive, slithering over the wolf’s head. It’s subtle at first, almost delicate.
Then the decay takes hold, spreading across the wolf’s body in atide of blackened veins and ash-like crumbles. The animal’s labored breathing stills, and for a brief moment, the silence feels merciful.
But my magic doesn’t stop. The air turns rancid. Bone turns brittle, muscle shrivels.
A skeletal outline lingers for a breath too long before it collapses inward, crumbling to dust. My breath comes in short gasps, my hand still outstretched, my magic still curling at my fingertips, unsatisfied, wanting more.
I try to pull my hand back, to rein it in, but the magic refuses to obey. It stretches, an insatiable thing that does not recognize restraint. It pours out of me, a torrent of decay surging hungrily over the rocks, desperate for something to consume.
My body shudders, a terrible emptiness ripping through me as the magic seeks anything and everything it can touch.
But the stone is impervious.
The decay writhes across the rocky surface, unable to take hold. It hisses in frustration, like a starving beast denied a meal.
Then it turns inward, curling back toward me, as though searching for another life to devour.
For a horrifying moment, I think it might consume me instead. My breath stalls. Would I be able to control it if it tried?
Then, suddenly, it stops. Not because I command it, but because it chooses to.
The darkness withdraws, slinking back into the depths of my body like an animal retreating to its den. My trembling hand falls limply to my lap.
I stare at the stone floor, now marked with faint scorch-like trails where the decay touched it, and feel the absence.
Then suddenly, the life I took from the wolf bursts within me, somewhere in the center of the churning magic that now slithers patiently against my bones, content, before it dissolves into my body, spreading outward to my wounds.
And yet, I feel no relief. I feel drained, hollowed out, but also free. Like something inside me realigned itself into something new.
