Seventeen #2
He kneels, pressing both hands to the ground, and the wind starts to howl, a low moan climbing in pitch. The air shivers, and my skin prickles as he channels. At first, it is cold and sharp. Then—with a loud crack—we are yanked upwards, propelled by a cyclone of invisible force.
I tuck my limbs in as best as I can, trying to make myself small.
We hit the dais hard, tumbling across the glass. I land flat, the pain in my shoulder so intense I scream. Alaris rolls, coming up crouched. He smiles through the blood in his teeth.
The world rocks before it settles into something I can understand.
The central platform is smaller than it looked from below, the space crowded with bodies and the writhing black dome. Atheron stands with his back to us, sending whips of fire across the surface of the dome in waves. The darkness swallows them, leaving only a faint afterglow.
Through the shadows, I see nothing. No movement. No sign of Kael. But I know he is in there. I can feel his power—strained... but still fighting.
Serraith and Maleiros flank Atheron, both bloodied. Serraith has a limp, his right leg buckling awkwardly.
I imagine Kael inside the dome, shadows leaking from his body. Nyxen and Vaelis at his sides. All of them working to keep the dome together by sheer force of will. They must be spent. Do warriors like them even get scared? Or is this what they train for?
Alaris surveys the scene and grins, a savage line of red cutting through the ruin of his face. He licks blood from his lip.
“You ready?” he asks. “I won’t say no to a little help on defence.”
I nod, bracing myself.
Kael is in trouble, and there’s no turning back now.
So I move towards the fire.
The dais is a forge. It shimmers with reflected light and heat, the air thick with vaporised blood and burning Mana. For one mad second, no one moves.
Then Atheron turns his head, taking us in with a delighted smirk. He snaps his fingers and the Fireborn move.
Maleiros and Serraith attack as a single organism, two bodies in perfect synchrony. A wall of heat advances, not just a flame but a living thing, ready to devour us.
Alaris and I charge straight into the fire, because what else is there to do? I drag a shield up, gold and glittering, barely enough to keep the flames from biting our skin. The pain is immediate, but I hold. Alaris stays tight at my side, crouched and intense, eyes locked on Atheron.
“Keep them off me,” Alaris shouts over the hiss of the flames. I nod, all my focus on the shield.
Serraith peels off from Maleiros, coming at us low and fast, his hands shaped into claws of burning orange flame.
He feints left—then whips a leg into my knee with practised precision.
I hear something pop, but the pain doesn’t register.
I slam my shoulder into him—my ruined left one.
The pain is so sharp it blazes through me, and for a breath, I feel nothing at all.
He grips my shoulders, grinning at me, his face a mask of pure hate. “I’m impressed you’re still alive, Lightborn.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I grunt, and smash my forehead into his nose. I feel it crunch and he staggers—but not for long. The last time I broke someone’s nose with my face it was Kael’s. Good practice after all.
“You little shit,” he screeches.
I raise my shield again. Just in time, because Maleiros begins hammering at it with fists of boiling orange flame.
The heat burns through my bones. Alaris slips around the side, a blur of wind, and tackles Maleiros at the waist. They tumble, smashing into the ground hard enough to spiderweb the mirrored surface.
Atheron doesn't even glance at them. All his attention is on the dome and the prize within. He stands just beyond my reach, arms outstretched as waves of fire pour from his fingertips. His lips are pursed in an amused line. When he sees me watching, he winks.
“I hope my men are treating you well,” he calls, voice effortless, as though we’re at a casual dinner.
I don’t respond. Instead, I dig deeper, pouring more of myself into the shield, making it wider, brighter. The more I give, the easier it gets. Not less painful—but more natural, as if the instinct to protect is all I need to fight—like this is what I was made for.
Serraith launches himself at me again, screaming, both hands aflame. His fists bounce harmlessly off the shield, but that only enrages him further.
He comes at me again, twice as furious. This time, I let him through the shield.
He expects me to dodge, but I want the hit.
I let him drive his burning hand straight towards my face, then clamp my bloodied hand around his wrist. He is wirier than the others.
I hold his fist in place while he tries to roast me alive.
My skin sizzles and I scream, but I don’t let go.
I drive my heel down into the bones of his foot.
He winces, stunned, so I punch him in the throat with my blistering hand.
He gags, stumbling back, clutching at his neck. I drive my knee up into his jaw. His teeth clack together, and he falls.
He’s on his back, blinking at the sun.
“Stay down,” I snarl, but I know he won’t.
Behind me, Alaris and Maleiros are a storm, both battered, trading blows at a speed that makes my eyes blur. The wind howls and snaps. Alaris is not as strong, but he is faster and has the wind to back him. For every blow Maleiros lands, Alaris gives two rapid ones back.
Atheron, bored now, stalks over. He points at Alaris, and Maleiros takes the opportunity to retreat.
“You’re really going to fight us Fireborn? You?” he says, disgust dripping off every syllable. “You forget who you are. You don’t get to stand level with me. You should be on your knees, not playing hero with some Lightborn rat.”
Alaris spits blood at Atheron’s feet. “Maybe I just like fucking with you, you prick!”
Atheron laughs. “You lack the necessary discipline. The will. You’re pathetic.”
Alaris’ smile turns calm enough to frighten me. “You wanna bet?”
He pivots, and in one perfect motion sends a blade of wind across the glass. It sweeps Serraith’s feet from under him, knocking him flat. His face smashes into the ground, cracking teeth. The next gust from Alaris rolls Serraith right over the edge of the platform.
Serraith’s body vanishes into the light.
A silence falls, but the number on the Mother Shard’s crown doesn’t change. I wonder if it only counts those who matter.
Atheron’s composure fractures for an instant. Then he is all rage, heat rolling off him like poison. He turns to Alaris and opens his arms. “All right then. Come and die.”
Alaris glances at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.
“Go,” I say. “I’ll handle Maleiros.”
He grins and launches himself at Atheron.
I turn, ready for Maleiros. He’s slower than before, wounded, and his fiery fists are flickering. I brace myself for his charge, raising my shield in a half-dome in front of me.
But he doesn’t attack. Instead, he backs away, eyes never leaving Atheron.
“You know this is pointless.” His voice is tired. “He will win. They always do.” His eyes flick—not to me, but to Atheron.
The Visconti Heirs.
“Maybe,” I rasp. “But not today.”
I advance, even though my legs are like lead. Every step is a gamble. Maleiros doesn’t take the bait. He just retreats further back, letting me pass.
Now it’s just me and the dome.
Something shifts inside me. This is not just a fight for survival. It is a battle for the only person who has ever made me feel wanted.
Kael.
I reduce my shield, letting it wrap around me like a second skin. Maleiros could probably kill me now if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He just stands, arms loose at his sides, breathing hard and watching.
I glance at Alaris. “Can you hold them off?”
His eyes glint as he grins wickedly.
I give myself one breath to think about leaving Alaris alone.
Then I take a step.
And walk straight into the darkness.
The darkness accepts me, but it isn’t welcoming.
Shadows press into me, trying to smother what doesn’t belong. But slowly, they begin to recoil—not retreating, but hissing, peeling away. Everything is silent. The battle outside is gone. The darkness makes a path for me, and I wonder if they can see this. If Kael can.
Inside, the world is cool, close, pulsing. There is no air here, not really—no sound. No wind. Barely a breath. Just the thrum of Mana.
Kael is at the centre, on his knees, both palms pressed to the floor.
He is a silhouette, the shadow so thick it seems to devour the light I bring in with me.
His hair is plastered to his forehead, face drained of colour.
His lips are cracked, tinged blue. Nyxen and Vaelis kneel to either side, hands locked to his shoulders, as if channelling their life force into him.
They’re barely breathing. I don’t know if they can even see me.
Kael does.
His head snaps up, his eyes all black—deep and monstrous. Then something softens them. He looks at me like I am the last drop of water in the world.
Nyxen and Vaelis shift their hands from Kael, fingers splaying on the ground. The shadows around them flare.
I don’t hesitate. I drop to my knees in front of Kael and pull him in by the collar with my working hand. It’s awkward and clumsy, but I use what I have. The kiss is rough, desperate, more teeth than anything. I taste blood and sweat, but it’s perfect.
He groans into my mouth, then breaks the kiss with a breath that rattles his entire body.
He stares at me like I’m not real. Like I’ll vanish if he blinks.
“You’re here,” he says, but it’s not a question.
“I am,” I say. “I found you.”
He pauses, looking me over. “Your arm—”
He grabs me before I can resist. He takes my left arm, finds the joint, and yanks my shoulder back into its socket with a single twist. I scream. The pain is so pure I swear I see the sun explode behind my eyelids.
He holds me through it, his fingers tight on my forearm, his lips at my ear. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I let you go.”
As if any of this could be his fault.