Chapter 35
Rune
Rune shifted in his chair, impatience gnawing through his composure. The Harbingers sat along the crescent table, their silence thick and uneasy. All pretended they hadn’t witnessed his shadows recoil from Alora’s light.
The war room was a sanctum of stone. The curved wall behind him bore a map carved with broken borders and old scars of conquest. The table itself resembled an altar more than a seat of council, its center etched with continents and seas that still remembered the weight of blood.
Above, a chandelier of bone and scorched steel shook, its flames sputtering as if caught in a wind that did not exist. The air lacked warmth and the shadows were restless, curling along the edges of the room like serpents waiting to strike.
Rune’s gaze fixed on Argyle. His hand flexed, tracking the thread binding him to Alora’s ring. It pulsed, alive with her heartbeat. It was a living tether that had always answered him. Yet like the bond, it gave him nothing other than her location.
No feeling. No whispers. No echo of her mind.
And yet… part of him admired her defiance. No fae could hinder the dark the way she had. No creature could thwart him so completely.
It proved she was far more than he realized.
The air shifted abruptly, charged with a surge of potent energy. Rune straightened as a prickle crawled down his spine.
Then he heard it.
It started as a ripple of sound that carried on the windless air. A voice. Hers. Soft, haunting. Woven of magic and longing. The melody threaded through the tunnels, and the mountain itself hummed in response.
Every note wound through him like silk and flame.
Whispers dance through the silver air
Shadows shift as if aware
A glow that lingers soft and shy
Underneath a pale moon sky
Step by step through the haze we roam
Lost in time where the spirits call home
Hollow laughs and bells faintly ring
In the fog where the fairies sing
His heart stopped as understanding struck him like a spear of ice.
Seven Hells. She was leaving.
Rune moved before the thought finished forming. He became a wraith of dark mist, racing through the tunnels toward the song that called him like a heartbeat.
And there she was.
Alora stood in the center of the bright cavern garden, her hair and body lit with threads of gold, embers whirling around her like fireflies. But it was not the sun illuminating the garden, it was her.
Rune stared at Alora in awe.
Caelum stood beside her, muted as he too listened to her song. On the other end of the cavern, his Harbingers emerged from the dark tunnels, gaping at her in wonder.
Alora sang like a siren of old tales. A voice like a melody from the Heavens.
She wasn’t drawing from his magic.
This was hers.
Rune stilled at the edge of the cavern, chest heaving. His hand pressed against the wall, afraid his legs might give.
Branches twist like hands unknown
Roots beneath are ice and stone
Petals fall with silent grace
Guiding paths through misty space
The little sapling at her feet grew. Slowly, steadily, impossibly.
Branches twisted upward, leaves shimmering with moonlight.
Vines curled to greet her as if recognizing the goddess who brought it to life.
Rune was utterly speechless as the tree rose up, her dancing around it, limbs graceful, her body swaying with the rhythm of the song.
He remembered this song.
She had sung it before, long ago, in the fading light of another life. He hadn’t heard it since the day she died. And now magic wove through every note ringing through the cavern, and the growing tree split at the seam, forming into a circle, branches fanning outward like a crown.
Echoes hum of tales once told
Gold lies hidden beneath the cold
An ancient charm in every sound
Magic lingers on the ground
Rune’s vision blurred, tears burning in his eyes, moved by some unspoken emotion. Alora shone like the sun itself, and the air vibrated with something sacred. Divine. She wasn’t mortal anymore. Maybe…she never was.
The tree stretched higher, toward the opening in the cavern roof.
Rune stepped forward instinctively, but sunlight streamed in and spread through the cavern. It struck his skin, and he hissed, withdrawing instantly.
Step by step through the haze we roam
Lost in time where the spirits call home
Hollow laughs and bells faintly ring
In the fog where the fairies sing
Her voice echoed through Rune, shaking his very being. The heart of the tree opened with a slow, creaking breath, a hollow spiraling like a luminous whirlpool. It spiraled brightly, with white light and a powerful charge of magic rippled through the air.
This magic… it felt like…
His eyes widened.
“Alora!” he shouted her name, his voice sharp, torn from him like a prayer.
She looked back, standing before the portal she created. Her glowing eyes locked with his. The sunlight graced her hair like a crown of flame, and she looked like a goddess born of the sun.
But then she took Caelum’s hand and stepped through the opening, vanishing out of sight.
The portal faded and the enchanted tree fell still.
Rune stood frozen in the cave, staring at it as silence swallowed everything. The leaves settled. Magic dimmed. The shadows crept in again.
A coldness swept over him. Then panic surged.
And a scream came.
His.
The darkness howled. Rune flitted across the cavern toward the opening above.
Calla shouted, voice rising in panic. “Sire—STOP! The sun—!”
He didn’t care.
He had to reach her.
Even if it cost him everything.
Rune tore from the mountain like a storm unleashed. The sunlight blinded him, burning through his vision. Still, he raced down the slopes, screaming in pain and wrath.
He reached the base of the mountain, where the forest’s shade granted fleeting reprieve. Darkness swept through the trees, seeking her warmth.
The faint trail of her scent led him to a tangle of thorns. There, caught in a beam of sun, lay a blood-red ruby nestled in black ore.
Alora’s ring. The sight of it fractured his senses like a glass.
The echo of her song drifted on the wind, slipping through his grasp once again. The sunrise shone beyond the forest like a wall, bright and cruel. Barring him from the one he desperately wanted.
Rune took a deliberate step out from beneath the canopy of the trees.
His flesh blistered where the dawn touched him, smoke curling from his cheekbones. He needed the burn to quell his fury. The shadows shrieked, writhing around him, desperate to pull him back. His skin hissed, but he didn’t stop.
He had always believed darkness could consume anything. But it could not hold the light. Not hers.
Rune knelt, picking up the ring, clenching it so hard the edges cut into his palm. The resonance of her magic was fading fast across the horizon.
Fire seared him down to bone, yet it wasn’t pain that brought him to his knees. It was the hollow ache in his chest. And the knowledge that, once again… he had lost her.
Not to death this time.
But to choice.
Alora fled into the dawn with the one meant for her.
And deep within him, something ancient and starless—snapped. Wings tore from his back with a brutal crack. Horns curled above his brow. Claws extended from his fingers and feet. Scales rippled across his skin like molten night.
He slipped backward into the shade. The shadows stilled. Waiting.
Deep within Karag D?r, the Gate quivered, sensing the shift in him.
Rune stared at the horizon where she had gone with one thought on his mind.
When night fell, he would hunt.