It was Vero.
Daimon watched in horror as he free-fell at a blinding speed.
The wyvern crashed into the ground, sand flying in all directions with the impact.
Daimon sprinted toward the wounded creature, his flesh prickling as if the Shadow Realm were attempting to peel it back, to hold him within it. But he kept going, knowing he was teetering on the edge of being too far outside of it. There was still a cloud of sand in the air, making it nearly impossible to see what was happening.
Silence followed as the shaking ceased.
Daimon coughed, using his shadows to clear the air. He froze once the sand settled.
Vero hadn’t brought his wings in by mistake. He had fallen with Brielle tucked into his talons, his large, leathery wings cocooning her.
She rolled out of his talons, coughing and clutching her stomach.
“Vero.” Brielle’s voice shook. “Get up, V.”
Vero didn’t move.
Everything was still as Brielle approached her wyvern. She reached out a shaky palm and pressed it against Vero’s scales. A sob broke from her chest and she fell to her knees. She clutched Vero’s side, tears streaming down her face.
“No,” Daimon breathed.
Brielle clawed at her chest, screaming, as if her heart had been torn out of her body.
Daimon kept his shadows wrapped tightly around him, but watching Brielle sob against her wyvern made him release them slowly.
A dark shadow passed over them and his head snapped up. He watched the dragon fly to the ground and land on the beach, unbothered, while Moros screamed. They landed on the edge of the border, the creature being pulled to the Shadow Realm just as Daimon was.
He needed to get to them before it was too late.
Daimon took off, back toward the border, his heartclenching as Brielle’s cries faded behind him. She hadn’t seen him. It was easier that way.
The dragon screamed, shrinking away from something only it could see. It shook Moros off its back and took off into the night sky.
Wyverns were fiercely loyal, always putting their Rider first.
But dragons bowed to no master.
The beast left Moros. It had likely bent to the strength of his dark magic, but Moros never had any business calling on a creature of such esteem.
Daimon watched him double over with his hands bracing his knees.
“Moros,” he hissed. He stood tall, his magic poised and ready to strike.
Moros whipped around, his chest heaving. When he saw Daimon, his face twisted into anger. Daimon drew Nightfall and smiled. He knew he had him—that this was all about to be over. He stalked toward him, his shadows shooting out to wrap around Moros so he couldn’t move.
Moros’s eyes widened when he saw the dagger. He struggled against the shadows, hissing as Daimon approached.
Daimon stopped in front of him and leaned in close. “You’ve harnessed a power that no human should.” His voice was low. Dark. “You’ve led a rebellion that turned into a war that ended countless lives.”
He could hear footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and found Senna running toward them, the rest of the group further down on the beach.
Moros opened his mouth, but Daimon didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“You’ll never hurt someone I love again.”
He drove the dagger into his chest.
