CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
Roran didn't wait for them to recover. Drawing deeper from the well of power within him, he called down another strike, then another, targeting each entity as it emerged from below. Each bolt temporarily disrupted their forms, forcing them to reconstitute with less mass than before.
They could be slowed. Not killed, perhaps, but weakened, driven back.
The realization sent a surge of wild hope through Roran's chest, bubbling up as laughter that escaped his throat—a sound more manic than joyful, edged with the hysteria of one who faces extinction and finds the smallest possible chance of survival.
"Come on then!" he shouted at the darkness, his voice nearly lost in the howl of the storm he'd summoned. "Come and taste it!"
Lightning answered his call, a relentless barrage that illuminated the cliff top in strobing flashes of electric blue.
Each strike found its mark, disrupting the advancing entities, forcing them to retreat or disperse.
But for every one that fell back, another emerged from below, drawn perhaps by the commotion or by some alien communication between parts of the greater whole.
And Roran was tiring. Storm magic, like any power, exacted its price. His muscles burned with fatigue, his vision blurring at the edges. Each lightning strike drained him further, pulling energy from reserves already depleted by days of hard travel and little rest.
A realization formed through the haze of exertion—the entities were weaker here, separate from their main mass.
In the water, they existed as a unified whole, a single consciousness inhabiting countless forms. But on land, divided into individual manifestations, they lost something of their overwhelming power.
They could be fought, at least temporarily.
But not indefinitely. Not by one man, even one with the storm at his command.
Roran took a stumbling step backward, then another, maintaining his assault even as he retreated toward the shelter of the pines.
The entities followed, relentless despite their losses, flowing across the ground with terrible purpose.
They moved more slowly on land than in water, but their advance was inexorable, consuming everything in their path—rock, soil, the hardy tufts of grass that clung to the cliff edge.
He had to get away. Had to bring this knowledge back to Frostforge, to Thalia. She needed to understand what they faced.
The thought of Thalia gave him renewed strength. He channeled everything he had left into one final, massive strike—a sheet of lightning that illuminated the entire cliff face, temporarily driving back all the advancing entities at once. In that brief moment of reprieve, he turned and ran.
The forest closed around him, pine branches whipping at his face as he plunged through the underbrush.
Behind him, he could sense rather than see the darkness resuming its pursuit, flowing between trees with that same terrible fluidity.
He didn't look back, focusing instead on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the cliff edge.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each inhalation burning in his lungs.
The storm still raged above, responding to his emotional state rather than conscious command, occasional lightning strikes finding their way through the canopy to strike at his pursuers.
But his control was slipping, his concentration fragmenting under the strain of prolonged exertion.
How long he ran, he couldn't say. Time lost meaning in the desperate flight, measured only by the burning in his muscles and the gradual dimming of his vision as exhaustion claimed him.
Eventually, his legs simply refused to continue.
He stumbled, caught himself against a tree trunk, then slid to his knees on the frost-covered ground.
Not far enough. He knew it even as he collapsed. The darkness would find him here, would consume him as it had consumed Eastwatch Fortress and who knew how many other places along the coast. But he couldn't move another step. His power was spent, his body beyond the limits of endurance.
Roran's hand still clutched his sword, though the blade seemed impossibly heavy now. With the last of his strength, he turned to face the direction he'd come from, determined at least to see his end approaching.
Through the trees, he could discern shapes moving—fluid, formless, absorbing what little light filtered through the canopy. The Deep Ones, still pursuing, still hungry. They moved more slowly now, perhaps also weakened by the distance from their main mass, but they were coming nonetheless.
His thoughts turned to Thalia. Fierce Thalia, with her pouch of herbs and her metallurgy skill and her stubborn determination to find alliance where others saw only enemies.
He should have told her so many things. Should have explained what he'd seen, what he'd learned about the Deep Ones' vulnerability to storm magic, about their ability to rise from the waters and attack over land.
Should have told her that he loved her. Not just in the heat of danger or passion, but quietly, persistently, with the part of himself that had never belonged to anyone before.
Now she would never know. She would wait for his return to Frostforge, would perhaps mourn when he didn't appear.
And eventually, the darkness would reach her too, would consume the academy and everyone within it, would spread across the continent until nothing remained but that perfect, pulsing void.
No. The thought arose with unexpected clarity amid his fading consciousness.
No, it wouldn't end that way. Thalia was too stubborn, too resourceful.
She would find a way to fight, to survive.
And she wouldn't be alone. Kaine would be there, and Luna, and all the others who had joined their secret alliance.
They would stand against the darkness, would find paths he couldn't see from here.
The thought brought a strange comfort as darkness crept into the edges of his vision—not the unnatural void of the Deep Ones, but the simpler darkness of unconsciousness.
As his awareness dimmed, he thought he saw a light moving among the trees—a warm, golden glow that bobbed and weaved between the pine trunks.
Voices reached him, distant and indistinct. Northern accents, harsh with urgency.
"There! By that fallen tree!"
"Quickly, before they reach him!"
The clash of weapons, the crackle of what might have been cryomancy.
Figures moving between him and the advancing darkness.
But Roran couldn't focus, couldn't make sense of what he was seeing.
Reality slipped away from him like water through cupped hands, leaving nothing but the final thought that circled in his mind as consciousness failed him.
Thalia. I'm sorry. I tried to come back to you.
Then nothing.