CHAPTER 89 Torj
CHAPTER 89
Torj
‘A soul bond only strengthens with time, in the presence of the bonded’
– Tethers and Magical Bonds Throughout History
T HE GUILD HAD been wrong. So incredibly wrong. Whoever they had captured and interrogated had fed them false information. And as Torj watched in horror as the enemy’s ranks parted, it became clear that Thezmarr had never had their true leader in custody.
For now, standing at the rotten core, was a man cloaked in black. A man who was a commander in every respect. Like his subordinates, he wore a mask, but that was where the similarities ended. His presence demanded acknowledgement; the fighting around him slowed in his shadow.
He stood tall, a simple shield braced across one arm, a small vial of purple liquid clutched in his other hand. The mask concealing his face was a work of art in itself: a masterpiece of blackened metal and polished obsidian, the eyeholes narrow and elongated, giving the unsettling impression of a predator’s unblinking stare.
As he surveyed the battle unfolding before him, the masked leader remained utterly still, save for the slight tilting of his head as he observed the ebb and flow of the conflict. His underlings swarmed forwards at some unseen signal, their movements coordinated, a testament to the discipline he must have instilled in them.
A bolt of lightning carved through the air, shooting straight for him—
He raised his shield in answer.
The storm magic hit, and a strange energy pulsed through the air around them as the shield’s centre point seemed to absorb the power.
Torj looked back to Wren, who was studying her fingertips and looking to Thea in shock. Thea looked just as surprised.
‘What the fuck...?’ Wren muttered.
Torj edged closer to her, adjusting the grip on his hammer, but Wren rolled her shoulders and met the enemy’s gaze. Lightning gathered once more in her palms; outside, thunder clapped. Torj could taste the rain on his tongue.
Wren unleashed herself.
The air around her crackled with energy. The hairs on Torj’s arms stood on end as she summoned her storm magic, her eyes flashing with fierce determination. He had seen her use her powers before, had watched on in awe as she called down lightning from the sky and summoned it from within, sending it arcing towards her enemies with a flick of her wrist.
But this was different.
The leader wielded his shield like a weapon itself, and that was exactly what it was. It gleamed with some sort of substance – alchemy , Torj realized. The polished metal surface absorbed Wren’s attacks like a sponge, the energy dissipating harmlessly into the air. Frustration flashed across her face as she redoubled her efforts, her attacks coming faster and more furiously than ever before. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her body twisting and spinning as she dodged the leader’s attacks.
The masked figure thrust his shield forwards, and a jet of sizzling emerald liquid sprayed from its centre, hissing as it ate through the stone floor where Wren had been standing mere moments before. The acrid stench of melting rock filled the air.
The enemy pressed forwards, his shield now pulsing with an angry red glow. He slammed it against the ground, a crimson mist expelling from its surface, cracking the flagstones and sending jagged shards flying in all directions.
Torj surged towards Wren, but she was two steps ahead, sending bolts of lightning sizzling through the air, the smell of the storm mingling with the tang of smoke and blood that already hung heavy in the great hall. Sparks flew in the wake of her power.
No one intervened. No one dared, not as the leader’s shield began to glow again with an eerie, sickly glint, the metal warping and buckling under the onslaught of Wren’s magic. She advanced, Thea at her back and Torj at her side. A glimmer of hope rose in Torj’s chest, his grip tightening on the haft of his hammer as she pressed her advantage.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her magic raging around them.
But behind his shield, the enemy leader uncorked the small glass vial he was holding with a flick of his thumb, bringing it to his lips beneath his mask. He tipped the contents down his throat, his eyes never leaving Wren’s face.
Torj tensed as the tonic visibly raced through the leader’s body, his muscles bulging and rippling beneath his black armour, seeming to grow before their very eyes. His stare glowed with an unnatural, almost feverish light.
He let out a pained roar of pure, unbridled power that made the very stones of the Great Hall tremble.
Beside him, Torj felt Wren falter as the leader lunged towards her.
Torj himself braced for impact, readying to throw himself between them, as Wren’s storm magic vanished.
But in its place was an explosion of alchemy.
Wren threw everything she had in her belt at him – glass shattering, colourful powders and potions bursting across the enemy’s shield as he lifted it again. The air crackled with the force of their clashing alchemies, a maelstrom of reactions that threatened to tear the hall apart.
The man gave a shout as he danced away from the onslaught and misted Torj with a disorientating substance. He then staggered towards Wren and struck her with his shield.
Torj heard the gasp of pain that tore from her lips as she was sent flying backwards through the hall. Her body slammed into the wall with a heavy thud.
Around them, both allied and enemy forces spilled in from the smouldering grounds outside. It was pandemonium. Cal shot arrows in a blur; Wilder was dual wielding his Naarvian steel blades against a trio of men. The rest of the Warswords returned to the fold, gathering around the royals and defending the students. Thea sent throwing stars flying and opened enemy throats with her dagger as she fought her way to Wren.
The masked leader lurched forwards, poised to strike the sisters.
At last, the strange substance clearing from his senses, Torj stepped into the enemy’s path, placing himself in front of Wren, war hammer raised. ‘You won’t touch her again,’ he growled, voice laced with the promise of violence.
Torj swung first, his hammer cleaving through the air with all his Furies-given strength behind it. But when it hit the enemy’s shield, he knew something was wrong. For neither the shield, nor its bearer, faltered beneath his blow. The enemy’s strength was unnatural, enhanced by whatever elixir he’d consumed.
Torj struck again, and was blocked, again. The masked figure retaliated with a series of swift, powerful strikes, his shield moving with a speed and precision that belied its size and the strength of its wielder. Torj sensed cruel calculation in every movement. This was certainly no mere foot soldier, but a true master of whatever dark alchemy he employed.
The enemy leader pressed his advantage. The concoction that coursed through his veins had transformed him into something more than human, a being of pure malice and power. Torj was forced back with a relentless barrage of blows.
He risked a glance at Wren, who Thea was helping to her feet. Could she channel her magic through his hammer again? He needed all the help he could get.
But blood matted her hair and dripped down her face, and Torj’s heart clenched painfully at the sight. He wanted desperately to go to her, but he couldn’t. He needed to end this.
And so, with a roar of defiance and a final, desperate surge of strength, Torj threw himself at the masked leader, his hammer singing through the air as he brought it down with all the force he could muster. For Wren, for the kingdom, for everything they had fought and bled for, he would not fail—
But the leader lunged, the movement impossibly fast, and pain lanced through Torj’s chest.
He looked down.
A small dagger protruded from his breastbone.
Staring at it, Torj watched as blood pulsed from the wound, and he staggered forwards, dropping his hammer, falling to his knees.
His breath rattled in his chest, and he found he could not move, his strength seeping out of him along with his blood.
A long shadow cast across him as the enemy leader closed in, shield and sword raised to make the killing blow—
A lean figure stepped into his path, placing himself between Torj and the enemy.
Zavier.
He twirled an elegant rapier, a gleam of silver in the flickering light, its tip pointed at the enemy’s heart.
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ the alchemist said.
‘And you have chosen the losing side,’ the masked man replied.
Zavier’s grip tightened on his blade; his jaw clenched. For a moment, the two men faced each other, locked in a silent battle of wills.
Then, Zavier’s rapier flashed forwards, a blur of steel aimed at the leader’s throat. At the same time, the masked figure thrust his shield before him, a wall of impenetrable alchemy.
The pieces clashed, sparks flying from the point of impact. But even as they struggled against each other, Torj saw a flicker of movement, a subtle shift in stance.
Both men reached out with their free hands, their fingers splayed wide. And with a blinding flash of light and a thunderous boom, an invisible force flung them backwards, their bodies hurtling through the air like rag dolls. They slammed into opposite walls with bone-shattering force, the stone cracking and crumbling beneath the impact.
Shock masking his own agony, Torj struggled towards Wren as slowly, painfully, the two men staggered to their feet. The leader cast a final, inscrutable glance at Zavier, his mask concealing any hint of emotion. Then, without a word, he turned and limped over to Torj.
‘It appears,’ the leader said, his voice quiet as he eyed the poisoner a few feet away, ‘that I can get to her through you.’
And that was when Torj heard Thea scream.
Despite his own searing agony, his gaze snapped up.
He saw Wren on her knees, blood blooming just above her heart.
‘No,’ he croaked, staggering towards her.
The air was stolen from his lungs as a golden thread materialized between them. It was the same hue as that shimmer he’d glimpsed in the meadow.
And that could mean only one thing: Audra had been right.
He was not going mad.
The scars at his chest were no wound.
They connected him to Wren.
A s oul bond .
Around him, no one moved or pointed; no one acknowledged the gold thread at all. But to Torj, it grew brighter with every breath, humming with an otherworldly energy that echoed in his chest. Gilded hues danced along its shimmering length as it grew taut between them—
‘Wren!’ Thea shouted, holding her sister’s shoulders. ‘What the fuck?’
Torj collapsed. He began to crawl to his soul-bonded through the blood and gore – but heavy footsteps sounded at his side.
‘We got what we came for,’ the voice of the masked leader sounded, as he lingered a moment longer. Then he retreated, his black cloak billowing, his forces falling into place behind him.
Torj barely noticed their withdrawal from the hall, barely registered as the battle subsided around them. Wren looked down at the stain of blood across the top of her shirt, panting through the pain that Torj felt in his own flesh, agony radiating in waves.
He crawled to her, the bond between them shining brighter, though Wren didn’t seem to see it. As he drew closer, he heard her laborious breaths matching his own. She was feeling every pulse of pain he did.
Torj’s vision blurred with tears as he wrenched the dagger from his chest, Wren crying out as he did. The sound cut him more deeply than the blade had.
Gasping, Torj reached her side, blood flowing from his searing flesh. Gritting his teeth, he fought to stay conscious, to cling to that cord that burned between them, that bound him to her—
‘Embers,’ he managed, tearing at her shirt to get a look at her wound – the very same as his own.
The connection between you can be abused. A strike against you is a strike against her.
Through the haze of pain, he was distantly aware of the final throes of chaos unfolding around them. Of Wilder and Cal taking on a lingering masked unit with a group of Guardians from Thezmarr.
Oblivious to the golden thread linking them, Wren was still staring down at the blood spreading quickly across her shirt, the crimson so stark against the white fabric.
Her lips turned ashen.
‘No...’ Torj pleaded, reaching for her.
For a moment, he had had everything. Everything he had ever wanted.
In the pocket of silence between life and death, what could have been flashed before his eyes. What they could have been together.
He was always meant to be hers, and whatever happened here, he always would be. But his pain was her pain, and her pain was his.
Bonded, they were vulnerable.
Tethered to one another, they were dying.
And that made things simple.
‘Is there a way to...to stop it? To cut the tie?’ he had asked Audra. He could feel it pulsing between him and Wren, and through the haze, he could feel her anguish, her desperation to live.
Through whatever ancient magic filled him, Torj knew what he had to do.
She was his to protect.
She would always be his to protect.
There was no rulebook, only the fierce urge to keep her safe, and he let it guide him. Torj focused all his remaining strength on the tether between them, pulling the shimmering cord between his heart and Wren’s taut, drawing her close. He poured every ounce of his love, his devotion into that connection.
With a gasp, he felt the bond begin to vibrate, made up of a thousand strands weaving together, one by one...
To meddle with it would be to interfere with the will of the gods, with fate itself...
But Torj knew his fate.
It was her.
It always had been.
Before his eyes, the bond glowed brighter, the connection between him and Wren growing stronger for one brief, shining second.
A final surge of iron-clad determination rippled through him.
He grasped the golden thread in both hands, pulling it taut. It was warm and silken against his fingers, pulsing with a sense of rightness, of finally finding where he belonged. A sanctuary in a world of chaos. A dawn chasing away the darkness.
‘I love you,’ he whispered into Wren’s hair.
And then, with a single, violent wrench, Torj Elderbrock severed the soul bond.