Chapter 10 #3
Gods, her words felt like a desperate prayer thrown into the void, a last resort born from watching everything else crumble around us.
I was the last resort.
I glanced frantically at Wolfe. “If it doesn’t work, I could kill him.”
“If it doesn’t work, he’s dead anyway.” Her voice was resolute. “Between the realm’s power and the sword, he doesn’t have much longer left.”
My hands shook as I stared down at his too-still form, terror and desperation warring inside my soul. But Wolfe's face was growing paler by the second, and the black veins were spreading further across his skin.
I closed my eyes, dragged in a trembling breath, and reached deep inside myself for a spark of faith.
I wasn’t brave enough to do this, but by the Gods, I was never the kind of person to not try.
Losing Wolfe wasn't an option I thought I could survive if I knew I could have tried to save him. I supposed sometimes, courage wasn't about being fearless.
Sometimes, it was just about being more afraid of the alternative.
“Can you guide me?” I breathed.
Arielle nodded. "Hold your hands over the sword and call to your magic using the Fray. Time magic is about flow. You're not forcing anything; you're just... asking it to move differently. Like slowing a river. Remember your elements?”
“I do.”
"Air flows, water moves, earth grounds, fire burns, but time simply is, and you have a connection with it. Through that connection you can guide the threads of time to slow down. Try it, and the moment you feel the change in your magic, tell us. We’ll do the rest.” She glanced at the failing barrier, then back at me. "You have to do it now.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” As ready as I’d ever be.
She gave me a nod of encouragement. So did Alaric.
Unsteady legs moved me toward Wolfe, and I swore the sword's corruption seemed to sense my approach. The black veins pulsed faster as if trying to drain him completely before I could act.
I held my hands over the blade, close enough to feel its malevolent heat but careful not to touch the cursed metal.
I drew in a breath and searched for my magic.
I searched through the parts of me, beyond the locator spell.
But… nothing answered.
Not even the spark I’d felt days ago when I sat in the garden back home gazing at the forest. That day I’d known something was different with my magic, even though I had no recent points of reference.
I’d just felt different. Different enough to know something inside me had shifted away from how magic had felt before the curse.
But I didn’t know how to access it.
I hadn’t had enough time to review the spells I’d recorded in my journal that would have helped me connect. And even if time were on my side, there’d been so much to take in.
So many truths. Too many.
Panic clawed up my throat as I focused deeper, scraping against the hollow places inside me.
Still nothing.
The silence inside was terrifying, like standing at the edge of a cliff and waiting to fall.
Then… a thin pull grazed the edge of my awareness.
It felt like a filament snagging on my mind, delicate but insistent, tugging inward.
I stilled, afraid to breathe, and the world shifted around that single sensation.
I blinked, then suddenly in the ash-choked light, faint threads shimmered where there should’ve been nothing at all. Delicate, silver-dark strands curled through the air, weaving around the sword’s corruption.
Nyzith strands.
They were Nyzith strands.
They swayed gently, like they were caught in a current only they could feel.
Follow the Nyzith strands, Mother’s voice echoed through me. They will lead you to your destiny.
One strand drifted toward me, toward Wolfe, hovering above the blade like it was waiting for permission. Like it had been waiting for me.
I exhaled, slow and trembling, and let my focus catch on that thread the way a hand caught a rope in the dark.
Guide me, I begged silently, and the strand shivered, then stretched forward, pointing straight into the moment I needed most.
Then I felt it. A vibrant sensation deep inside my chest.
And I knew with certainty it was my magic.
I coaxed it to flow through my hands, and the elements responded. The air stilled around us. Earth settled deeper where I stood. And even the ash hung suspended in the gray light.
I gazed at Wolfe, searched the long strands of raven hair falling over his face, and I did as Arielle had instructed. I thought of what I wanted—time to slow, the sword’s magic to slow.
Slow. Stretch the moments. Give us time, I willed, pressing my intention into the magic as crackles of lightning pooled between my palms.
The magic pulsing around the sword began to shift. It became languid, elongated, and the feeding rhythm stretched like elastic drawn to its limit. Then the flickering through Wolfe’s body stopped, and he was whole.
Blessed Mother. I was doing it.
I was really doing it.
Time was slowing and listening to me.
Bending to my will.
“Now!” I cried.
I looked back at Wolfe just as he lifted his head, and bright blue eyes found mine.