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Aidric’s dark veins around his eyes and along his neck had become more pronounced. He didn’t have much more to give. But Mira did.

The power of her Dark Magic danced in her fingers and in her heart. Rakkley watched her as she approached. No longer could she hear his laughter in her mind. But it wasn’t enough. Not until he was dead. Not until Synth was forever destroyed.

As she called upon her signifiers, they answered one by one, like a choir of revenge.

She was wrath.

She was vengeance.

She was his undoing.

The Shadowflame on her hand flickered like an inferno, ready to burn it all to the ground.

This time, she wielded her own powers, not the ones she borrowed from Rakkley, the amulet, or the Relic of Death. This time, she was in control. She could temper her vengeance, which wanted to inflict the same kind of pain on him that he had brought on others. Wrath begged to break every bone in his body, but she told it to quiet. Death was the price he had to pay. No more, no less.

She lifted her arm with a clear goal. Right when she was ready to cast the spell, magic ropes snapped around Rakkley, and council defenders flooded through the door at the back of the temple.

“Stand down,” a defender commanded. “Especially you, Dawson.”

Mira looked around. Bodies of dead Feeders and Wielders lay everywhere. The few who were still alive were killed by the council defenders with ease.

Ella, Oliver, and Rylan rushed to Mira. Amelia tended to Harrington’s wound. Evren was covered in Feeder blood.

Behind her, Aidric stood rigid, pointing his right hand at Rakkley.

“Give me a reason to lock you up,” the defender said with glee.

Aidric smiled at him and lowered his arm.

With Rakkley firmly immobilized, a team of defenders grabbed him by his arms and carried him out. Mira and her friends followed.

“Tell me you’re not planning on just arresting Rakkley,” Ella demanded as they walked outside.

About thirty defenders surrounded Highmage Tinley. She wore her Primemage uniform.

“He can produce Synth again,” Oliver said.

“Clearly, you know he needs to die,” Ella added. “He’s too dangerous.”

“That is not a decision for you to make,” Tinley responded.

“This is madness.” Oliver tried to reason with Tinley as they walked down the temple steps to the magic gate.

The perimeter spell was no longer active. Council experts must have already brought it down.

Defenders readied the half-dead Rakkley for transport, putting a magic suppression device on his hand and locking chains around him.

“Are you not listening? He can create Synth again,” Oliver screamed in frustration.

But Tinley didn’t react, giving orders to defenders, and a cold feeling settled in Mira.

“How did you find us?” she asked Tinley.

“I placed a trace spell on Mr. Dawson because I knew he would find you and I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

But they didn’t come here to save her and her friends. “You want to recreate Synth,” Mira said, feeling vengeance and wrath in her surging with the realization of the council’s plan. “A powerful tool for whoever has it in their possession, isn’t that right?”

Tinley smiled at her. “One day you will understand, Miss Winters. Casters were once helpless against the powers of Wielders, but we can have a weapon that will protect us from them. A deterrent.”