Chapter 20 Threxian
THREXIAN
Wrath demands blood. The instinct is older than language, older than kingdoms, older even than the fragile villages mortals build from timber and hope.
It rises through my veins with merciless clarity as Briarthorn burns around us, the infernal fire answering Elowen’s terror with an enthusiasm that borders on catastrophic.
My first impulse is simple and brutally efficient.
Destroy the threat. Eliminate those who harmed her. End the fear that feeds the flames.
The problem is that the fear has already spread too far.
The square has dissolved into chaos as villagers flee through smoke-choked streets, their earlier rage replaced by blind panic. Some run toward the marsh paths of the village while others attempt to form desperate lines with water buckets that shatter the moment another roof collapses nearby.
And I feel the center of it all. Elowen’s fear. Her grief. Her crushing guilt. It pours into the infernal current like oil thrown onto an open flame.
I tighten my wings around her trembling body, shielding her from the worst of the falling sparks as another building collapses across the street with a thunderous crash. The ground trembles beneath our feet while embers whirl through the air like burning snow.
“Please, Elowen, please breathe” I say quietly.
Her hands clutch at my shirt with desperate strength.
“I didn’t mean this,” she repeats.
Before I can answer, a group of men surge toward us through the smoke.
Fear has twisted their panic into something reckless and dangerous. Three of them carry tools from the smithy, crude iron bars and axes raised like weapons as they stumble across the burning square toward the infernal shape they believe responsible for the destruction swallowing their homes.
Toward her.
“She’s the witch!” one of them shouts hoarsely. “Kill the demon and the fire will stop!”
Wrath answers instantly.
Demon flame erupts along my claws as I step forward, placing myself fully between them and the woman shaking in my arms. The air recoils from the heat pouring off my body as the men hesitate for a single fatal heartbeat.
I give them one chance to turn back. They do not take it. And my control is non-existent right now. I fighted it for too long…
The first man swings the iron bar. Hellfire answers before the weapon completes its arc.
The blast of heat slams into him with merciless precision, consuming flesh and bone in an instant as white-gold flame devours the threat where he stands. The other two barely manage to cry out before the surge spreads to them as well, reducing their attack to ash in the span of a single breath.
I do not pursue the others. I burn only those foolish enough to attack again. But the destruction does not stop there. Because the fire surrounding us no longer belongs entirely to me.
The current surging through Briarthorn answers a far more volatile source now. Every scream that rises through the smoke feeds the flames further. Every terrified thought racing through Elowen’s mind pushes the inferno outward with renewed strength.
Another street erupts in fire. I grit my teeth and force my power outward, attempting to choke the flames spreading through the village. Demonfire answers my command. For a moment. Then it surges again. Because it is not answering me anymore. It is answering her.
“Elowen,” I say again, tightening my hold on her.
She shakes her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she watches the village burn.
“I killed them,” she whispers.
I follow her gaze across the square. Villagers flee through smoke-filled streets toward the marsh beyond the village, their silhouettes flickering through the firelight as they abandon homes that have already begun collapsing behind them.
Mothers drag crying children through the mud while men shout frantic instructions that no one obeys anymore.
The village is lost. The moment arrives with terrible clarity. Briarthorn cannot be saved. And the longer she remains here, the worse the fire will become.
“Come on,” I say quietly.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt.
“We have to help them,” she pleads.
My heart twists painfully.
“I am helping you.”
She shakes her head again, tears streaking through the ash on her face.
“I can fix it,” she insists weakly. “I just need—”
Another explosion of sparks interrupts her. Across the square, the council hall ignites.
The tall wooden structure burns faster than the rest of the buildings, its dry beams catching instantly as abyssal fire devours it. The windows shatter outward with a big crack as heat tears through the interior.
The sight breaks something inside her.
“No,” she chokes.
The word is barely audible through the roar of the fire.
“I did this.”
Her body trembles violently against mine as the weight of the destruction finally crushes the fragile hope she has been clinging to.
“I’m a monster.”
The pain in her voice cuts deeper than any blade. Something tears open inside my chest.
I wrap my arms more tightly around her shaking body, pulling her against me as my wings close protectively around us.
“You are not a monster,” I say.
But the words feel painfully inadequate. Because the fire continues spreading. Because the inferno still answers her fear. Because the village behind us is already becoming a graveyard of burning wood and shattered stone.
“We have to go,” I say softly.
She shakes her head.
“I can’t leave,” she whispers.
The words carry desperate conviction.
“These people—”
“Will survive if they run,” I interrupt gently.
Her gaze lifts toward mine, red-rimmed and broken.
“I promised to protect them.”
“And you did.”
The bond trembles with the raw depth of her grief. But the truth remains unchanged. She cannot save them tonight. And if she stays here, the fire will never stop.
I make the decision then. She struggles weakly as I lift her into my arms.
“Threx—”
“You will hate me for this,” I murmur quietly.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders.
“We can’t leave them!” she screams.
“I will not lose you.”
The words leave my mouth with quiet finality. My wings spread wide as I turn away from the burning square.
Behind us the council hall collapses inward with a deafening roar, sending a towering column of sparks into the sky as the final symbol of Briarthorn’s authority disappears beneath the devouring blaze.
I carry Elowen away from the destruction despite her desperate protests.
She clings to me as we move through the smoke, her body shaking with sobs.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers brokenly.
I hold her tighter.
“You are alive,” I reply quietly.
I do not carry her far. Only far enough that the flames cannot reach us. The marsh beyond the village swallows the road in darkness, tall reeds whispering in the night wind while Briarthorn burns against the horizon behind us.
By the time we stop among the wet grasses, the town we left behind has already begun collapsing into ruin.
Elowen’s sobs do not quiet when the flames finally vanish behind the wall of reeds. If anything, the distance only makes them worse.
Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt as though she might fall apart if she lets go, her entire body trembling in my arms while the glow of the burning village stains the clouds behind us.
The power moving through the bond remains unstable, surging with every broken breath she drags into her lungs.
“I killed them,” she says again, her voice dissolving into a raw, hysterical sob.
“No,” I answer immediately.
She shakes her head against my shoulder.
“Yes!” she cries. “You saw it. Every time I was afraid the fire spread. Every time someone screamed it got worse. Threx, I couldn’t stop it.”
Her hands grip my shoulders harder as though she is trying to push herself away from me, but I tighten my hold before she can create even an inch of distance.
“You will not push me away,” I tell her quietly.
“I burned their homes,” she gasps. “Their children were there. Their families—”
“They ran,” I interrupt gently.
“You don’t know that!”
Her voice rises sharply beneath the weight of her terror.
“They were screaming and running, and I couldn’t stop it, and you were hurting trying to contain it, and it was all because of me!”
The words collapse into another wave of sobbing that shakes her entire body. I can feel the devastation moving through her like an open wound — guilt, dread, and a self-loathing so sharp it almost steals the air from my lungs.
I stop walking and pull her closer against me, one hand sliding into her hair as I press her head firmly against my chest.
The heat that normally coils beneath my skin softens instinctively around her, dimming until it becomes little more than a quiet warmth in the cool marsh air.
“You are a healer who was pushed beyond what any mortal should endure,” I say quietly.
“That’s not what it looked like,” she whispers.
I glance back once toward the distant glow on the horizon where Briarthorn still burns.
“No,” I admit softly. “It is not.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“I tried so hard.”
The despair in her voice ripples through the bond.
“I know,” I repeat.
She buries her face deeper against my chest, her quiet crying filling the marsh while the wild current between us slowly begins to settle.
I hold her through every shaking breath. Because right now she does not need a demon. She needs someone who refuses to let her face this alone.