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The remaining guards back away, weapons raised in defensive positions. Fear ripples through their ranks, discipline fracturing under their commander’s betrayal.

Kelaros moves with unnatural speed, crossing the distance to the nearest guard before the man can raise his weapon. Crystal grows from Kelaros’s fingertips, extending into deadly spikes sharp enough to pierce armor as if it were parchment.

One by one, the remaining Dark guards fall, throats slashed, chests punctured, bodies broken and discarded. Blood flows across the crystal floor, channeling into grooves as the court absorbs the sacrifice, using death to fuel its rebirth under a new master.

Thalindor positions himself between us and the carnage, his mirror-shield raised to deflect any attack. “Your Majesty, we cannot stay.”

The fragment in my chest pulses with renewed agony as the court shifts allegiance, the connection between us changing from symbiotic to parasitic.

“The Opal Court recognizes him now,” I choke out. “It’s accepting him as its new anchor.”

Around us, the court’s physical structure responds to its new master. Crystal roots from the floor bend toward Kelaros, and veins in the walls pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. Even the air itself is drawn to him, currents swirling around his transformed body.

The last guard falls with a gurgling scream, his blood joining the patterns on the floor. Kelaros stands amid the slaughter, arms spread as if embracing the destruction. Crystals grow from his shoulders in a horrifying mimicry of the stag’s antlers.

“Do you feel it, cousin?” he calls to me, the vibrations resonating through my bones. “I will be King.”

The floor beneath our feet trembles, crystal spikes erupting in a circle around him like a crown. The court reshapes itself to match his will, corridors shifting and sealing, preventing escape.

“We need to get to Elionn,” I whisper to Theron, fighting through waves of nausea as my connection to the court twists. “Before Kelaros seals every exit.”

Theron’s jaw tightens, Silver magic gathering around his fingertips. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” My legs shake beneath me, but determination steadies them.

Kelaros turns toward us. “Don’t leave so soon, cousin. We’ve only just begun to explore what the court can be under proper guidance.”

A gesture from his transformed hand sends crystal spikes erupting from the floor in our direction. Theron counters with a blast of Silver fire, and it meets the crystal with the sound of breaking glass. Thalindor’s shield deflects shards that fly toward us from the impact.

“Go!” Theron pushes me toward a corridor. “I’m right behind you. I’ll hold him back.”

The fragment in my chest burns in protest as I stumble away from the confrontation, the court pulling at me even as it accepts Kelaros as its new master.

Behind us, Kelaros laughs with a sound of pure triumph, announcing to every corner of the dying court that a new King has claimed his throne.

The sithean stone at my chest pulses, its rhythm steady despite the chaos surrounding us. I flatten my palm over it, searching for Elionn’s distant presence.

“This way.” I point to where a corridor flickers between solid and translucent, its structure uncertain under Kelaros’s influence.

Thalindor moves to our flank, mirror-shield raised to deflect falling crystal shards. His expression remains stoic, centuries of discipline holding as the world crumbles around us.

The first steps into the corridor send pain lancing through my transformed body, and I make it only a dozen feet before I’m forced to lean on a wall that shifts beneath my touch, growing warm then cold.

“He’s trying to stop us,” I gasp out.

Theron’s hand clasps mine, Silver threads flowing from his fingers into my palm. The touch sends conflicting sensations through my veins, Silver and Opal magics colliding where our skin meets.

“Focus on our bond,” Theron urges. “The sithean stone connects you to royal blood. Use it.”

I concentrate on the Silver thread binding me to the three brothers. The stone warms as I channel its power through the blood-sigil tattooed on my palm.

The corridor ahead stabilizes, crystal patterns freezing in place long enough for passage. “It’s working.”

We move faster now, Theron’s Silver magic forming a protective shield around us while I channel Opal energy to stabilize our path. The combined magic creates a bubble of order in the chaos, though maintaining it drains us both. Sweat beads on Theron’s forehead, and my muscles tremble with the effort.

Around us, walls fold inward, ceilings lower then rise without warning, and the floors ripple.

“Left,” I command as a passage to our right seals, crystal spreading over the entrance. “He should be just ahead.”