Isla
His hair was dark as ink; his skin was pale as bone. He wore a crown of strange metals, spiked and jagged enough to be a weapon itself. The dark fabric of his cape seemed to leech all color around it. A sinister energy clung to him, like his soul was a relentless void.
And Cronan didn’t even glance at her as he flicked his wrist like he was swatting a fly—and Lark was shredded into ribbons.
And yes. She had completely underestimated him.
She knew it was useless. Useless to take her stance, to raise his own sword, to draw upon the energy of the incoming storm and surround herself with all her abilities, to unleash the blizzards and hurricanes contained in her orb, to wrap herself in rings of stars and fire and shadow and ice. But she did.
And in a rush of darkness, Cronan broke through all her defenses like they were no more than wisps of wind. Before she could even blink, he was holding her by the throat, feet dangling above the ground.
He plucked his sword from her grip. He pored over it for a moment, seeming pleased. Then, he turned his attention to her while she thrashed and gasped for air.
He looked into her eyes only for an instant before his gaze shifted lower. To the black diamond necklace that rested right against her pulse.
And then this world-leveling immortal being with unfathomable power . . . laughed. The sound was devoid of any joy, just cruel amusement. It echoed through her skull, and her vision started to dim.
“Worldkey,” he said, looking at the sword, the stone, and then her. “I’ve torn apart the universe searching for you.” His mouth turned into a mirthless smile. “And you’ve brought yourself to me.”
Then everything went dark, like the stars themselves had been swallowed whole.