Page 177 of The Blood Rites

“I can fight,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper. I’m not convincing, even to myself.

He bares his teeth. “You can survive. That will be enough.”

I have no strength to argue.

He kneels, making himself a smaller target, his shadows rising as a shield for us both. I clutch at the back of his uniform, avoiding the worst of his burns, and slide down until I’m crouched beside him.

Vaelis and Kael move as one along the edge of the river, searching for a way across. Serraith tries to bait them, throwing slashes of flame at random. The fire burns so hot it splinters the air, but Kael’s shadows swallow it, turning it to cold and darkness.

The air seems to vibrate, like it’s about to snap.

Atheron calls out, voice calm. “You can’t win here, Prince. Surely you can see that?”

Kael doesn't answer. I’m not sure he could even if he wanted to.

Atheron shakes his head, almost sad. “You’ll destroy yourself before you lay a finger on me.”

Kael skirts the near bank, his silhouette warped, the shadows at his feet turning to inky pools that reflect nothing.

Vaelis says something to him. Kael nods, just once, and Vaelis peels off. He hooks left, melting into the shadows that clamber up the walls. Kael crouches low, shadows flaring—then erupts.

Serraith’s eyes widen in delight, and he launches upward to meet Kael as he vaults the surging river of flame.

Kael hits Serraith mid-air, and the collision detonates heat and darkness across the chamber. The impact knocks Kael back, but his shadows absorb the flame, twisting it around and spitting it back at Serraith. The Fireborn lands in a crouch, fire whipping around him as he laughs with unrestrained madness.

Kael lands safely on this side of the river, but that doesn’t stop my heart lurching in my chest. He’s not in control of himself.

Atheron doesn't move. Just watches.

I try to catch details, but the world is spinning, and I’m not sure how much time passes.

At some point, Atheron steps onto the river of fire. He walks on the surface, a path of cooled stone forming under each footstep and melting away behind. He moves toward Kael with maddening ease.

Nyxen growls under his breath. “He’s going to try and take them both at once. Idiot.”

“Who?” I say.

“Kael.”

He’s not worried about Atheron or Serraith. He’s angry at Kael.

The moment Atheron places his foot on this bank, Kael lunges. The two collide as fire and shadow fight for dominance. Kael’s shadows reach for Atheron, but the heat is so intense that the blackness itself wavers and curls away. Atheron grabs Kael by the throat, fingers sinking in past the skin, burning him from the inside out. Kael screams—really screams—and his Mana falters a fraction.

Vaelis appears out of nowhere, slamming Atheron from the side, and breaking his grip. Atheron’s arm snaps at the elbow, but he doesn’t even flinch; he lets it dangle, dead, and keeps coming.

Serraith leaps in, all flame and teeth, pouncing for Kael’s exposed side.

Vaelis takes the hit, letting the fire eat through his chest and arm, gritting his teeth until blood beads at the corner of his lips. He rolls with the force of it, using the momentum to knock Kael out of the way and take the brunt of the assault himself.

Kael is up in a blink, rage and darkness pouring off him in waves. His eyes are still solid black, his body ringed in shadow, but the skin at his throat is blistered, bubbling and white.

He looks at me.

For a moment, I see nothing in him at all. Not Kael, not a prince, not even a monster. Just a black hole where a person should be.

He turns back to Atheron.

The Fireborn are waiting, smiling.