TWENTY-ONE #3
Rian’s longsword cleaves through darkness with fluid efficiency. He moves like the tide itself—quick, adaptable, unstoppable—his blade an extension of the water he commands.
He pauses. His eyes flick toward the dais, where terrified guests crouch, screaming, trapped as a new wave of Fellborn surge toward them. He shifts his stance, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands.
Water gathers.
It rises from the air, from the very moisture in the room, coalescing along the length of his blade. Not merely flowing, but building into something far more dangerous.
Then, with a single sharp pivot, he swings.
A wave erupts from the blade, a surging wall of water rushing forward with devastating force. It crashes into the advancing Fellborn, their forms twisting, unraveling, then dissolving into nothingness beneath the impact.
The dais is clear. The surviving guests stare in stunned silence.
Rian takes a breath of relief before snapping his sword back into position.
“Stay down,” he commands, his voice calm but edged with steel.
Then he turns—already moving, already cutting through the next threat.
I barely have time to process it before a massive blast of heat radiates from the far side of the ballroom.
I whip around just in time to see Rowena drawing fire from the air, her will fierce and unyielding. The flames twist and contort before suddenly taking shape. Three massive bears emerge, their bodies forged from fire, their eyes burning like embers in the darkness.
And then they charge.
They crash into the Shadow Forces with searing fury, tearing through them like wildfire through dry grass. Darkness meets pure, blistering light—and it loses.
Then comes the sound.
The Fellborn scream, animal and wrong, like wretched, broken sounds that don’t belong in this world. Like a wolf’s throat being torn open, the final gurgling cry drowned in its own blood.
Even the air seems to flinch from the sound.
But Rowena doesn’t hesitate. She raises her burning blades and steps directly into the fire, ready to finish what she started.
The fight rages around us—the clash of magics and steel, the hiss of shadow against flame—but somehow it all feels muted. Like the world has narrowed to this moment. This war zone of smoke and blood and blazing fire.
Thane’s fire blazes beside me, a constant, burning reminder of what we’re fighting for—and what we’re fighting against.
But I can’t shake the feeling twisting deep in my gut. Something is wrong. Something far bigger than this battle.
Then Calryx’s voice crashes through my thoughts again, more frantic than before.
“Virelya! I can’t reach you inside the castle. The walls are too thick! I can’t risk hurting anyone! Stay alive!” she commands.
Yeah, that’s the plan, Calryx.
I feel her fear piercing through the bond, but I can’t afford to focus on it now. I scan the ballroom. The shadows are everywhere.
Then I spot Valen.
Runes etched along his fingers and forearms pulse faintly, their light shifting like breath caught in a storm. He is not like the others—not a channeler, not a wielder in the traditional sense—but the power within him is no less dangerous.
He moves with measured precision, his glowing staff a blur of motion.
Each strike is calculated. Efficient. Deadly.
The weapon humming with Elemental force.
With a sharp twist of his wrist, he deflects a shadow’s clawed strike, spinning the staff in a tight arc before driving its reinforced end into the creature’s core.
The impact sends a pulse of energy through the Fellborn’s body—and then it unravels, dissolving into nothingness.
A second enemy lunges. Valen doesn’t flinch.
He plants the staff firmly against the marble floor, its runes igniting in a flash of silver-blue light. The air shifts violently. A controlled burst of force erupts outward, launching the creature across the ballroom before its twisted form slams into the far wall.
His calm focus never wavers, his movements as fluid and precise as the wind he was born from.
For a moment, his eyes catch mine, and in that fleeting second, something unspoken passes between us. A silent acknowledgment. A mutual understanding. Then he’s gone, already back in the fray, fighting with everything he has.
“Amara!”
Thane’s voice snaps me back instantly. His fire swirls around us, illuminating the horror we’re fighting.
But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
“We can’t keep this up forever,” I say, dread tightening in my stomach.
Thane’s eyes lock onto mine, his jaw set like steel. “Then we take out whoever’s leading them.”
As if his words summon the mysterious form holding all these shadow soldiers together, something moves at the edge of my vision. A figure steps out from the darkness itself.
Taller. More solid.
A presence so profoundly wrong that it seems to warp the very air around it. Unlike the others, it moves with quiet purpose, each step calm, deliberate, inevitable.
My heart, my bond with Thane, and my bond with Calryx fall into perfect rhythm.
One beat.
Then silence.
The world doesn’t stop.
It simply forgets how to move.