Chapter 49
Across the throne room, the remaining Noskari faltered for a single breath. Then they turned and fled, slipping into the shadows like ghosts released from their master’s fading grip.
Kaldrek’s stomach twisted. The Noskari hadn’t died with Vaelora.
They still moved like smoke, their bodies shifting into mist with ease.
Their skin remained gray, as if the dark magic still pulsed within them.
Was it possible their power hadn’t come solely from Vaelora, but had rooted itself inside the hosts, drawing strength from within to survive? That was a dangerous possibility.
Her final words echoed in his mind: If you kill me, your fight won’t be over. The memory sent a chill through him, but he forced it aside as the sharp clatter of chains broke the silence. He turned to see Obren, Holden, and Alaric finally free.
Cillian stood over Vaelora’s broken body. Blood dripped from his mouth. His chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. He did not move or speak. He only watched her corpse, as if daring it to stir again.
Kaldrek shifted back into his human form.
Bloodied and battered, he stumbled through the ruined throne room toward Evelyne.
She was collapsing, and he caught her just in time, pulling her into his arms. She flinched when his hand grazed her ribs, and pain surged through him as well, a sharp reminder of the wound still bleeding at his side.
“You’re hurt,” Evelyne whispered.
“I’ll be all right,” he murmured. “It’s already starting to heal.” He blinked through the dizziness, focusing on the rhythm of her breath as it began to steady.
Vaelora was dead. The witch who had taken everything from them and ruled through cruelty and fear was finally gone. For the first time in Kaldrek’s life, the world felt lighter.
But freedom had come at a terrible cost.
The Noskari had disappeared into the shadows, and Cillian still stood near Vaelora’s corpse, locked in a silent struggle with whatever remnants of her magic lingered inside him.
Kaldrek knew what had to come next. He had to get Cillian out of the throne room before the shift back fully took hold.
The first transformation was always volatile, full of raw emotion, confusion, and instinct tangled into something dangerous.
He couldn’t risk Evelyne or the others getting caught in the storm that was about to break.
“You need to get out of here, Cillian,” Kaldrek shouted. His voice echoed across the broken marble. “Go. Run!”
But Cillian did not respond. His body buckled and fell, shifting back into his human form as he hit the ground. He trembled violently, his muscles seizing as if something inside him was still fighting to survive. His eyes rolled back.
Evelyne jolted upright. “Cillian!” she rasped, trying to crawl toward him.
Kaldrek pulled her back, holding her tightly.
He couldn’t let her get too close—not when he didn’t know what still lingered inside Cillian, or whether the creature that had torn Ty apart might return.
She was angry with him, Kaldrek could feel it, but every choice he’d made had been to protect her.
Even before his feelings deepened, that instinct had always been there.
From the very first moment he saw her, keeping her safe had been his purpose. So he held on.
“Let go of me, Kaldrek!” Evelyne cried, struggling against him.
But he did not let go. He did not care if she hated him for it, so long as she stayed safe.
Cillian stiffened, and a stream of black mist slipped from his open mouth.
It curled upward, dissolving into the air like poison.
Cillian writhed as the darkness within him fought to take hold, but he shone with a fierce, golden light—burning from the inside out, as if his very soul sought to purge the shadows.
His body glowed brighter with each surge, the dark magic seeping from him in tendrils.
But the strain was evident. Kaldrek saw it in the way his arms hung limp, his strength slipping away.
He could do nothing but bear witness as Cillian unleashed the full force of his light.
“He’ll be consumed,” Evelyne whispered, as though recalling a line from the prophecy.
“To burn too brightly… is to be consumed.” Her voice broke into a cry as she turned toward Cillian.
“Stop! You’re drawing too much power!” She struggled against Kaldrek’s grip.
“Please, Kaldrek,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “He’s going to lose himself!”
But he held her firmly, unwilling to let her near the volatile force spilling from Cillian. They watched as a final surge of blackness erupted from Cillian’s chest and his back arched violently off the marble floor. With a shuddering gasp, he collapsed again. But this time, he did not move.
“Cillian!” Evelyne screamed. “Let me go!”
Kaldrek loosened his grip slowly, waiting for any type of movement, but none came. So he let her go.
She was at her brother’s side instantly, dropping to the marble and gathering him into her lap, holding him as if she could keep his soul tethered to her through sheer will alone. But his skin was pale, his face slack.
Kaldrek knew deep in his bones that Cillian was gone.
Alaric dropped to his knees beside them, resting a steady hand on Evelyne’s back.
The sight of another man touching her stirred no possessiveness in Kaldrek.
This was not a battle for dominance, nor a fight for her attention.
It was a moment of grief, a quiet offering of comfort between two friends bound by sorrow.
Kaldrek moved with quiet hands, tearing a strip of cloth from Vaelora’s dress and gently covering Cillian’s body before sinking to his knees beside them in silence.
“Evelyne,” he said gently, but she did not respond. She cradled Cillian against her chest, pressing desperate kisses to his forehead.
Her voice cracked as she pleaded with him, her words unraveling into broken sobs. “It’s me, Cillian. Evelyne. Please come back. Please, please don’t leave me.”
Every word ripped through Kaldrek’s heart. He couldn’t stand the sight of her in pain.
“Evelyne, he is gone,” Alaric said hoarsely.
“No! No, please, gods, no!” Evelyne sobbed, clinging to Cillian tighter, rocking him back and forth like she could bring him back through sheer love.
Alaric bowed his head, a low, strangled sound escaping him.
The throne room was silent, the air heavy with grief.
Evelyne had fought so hard to find her brother, to save him. And now she held him dead in her arms, another life stolen by Vaelora’s cruelty. Kaldrek’s eyes burned with unshed tears. They had won the battle, but it felt hollow.
“Kaldrek!” Obren’s voice rang out through the silence. “Look.”
Everyone’s attention shifted as Obren pointed toward Cillian. Kaldrek followed his gesture, his gaze landing on Cillian’s face.
His eyes were open, vacant and unfocused as he stared up at the ceiling. Something sparked behind them, like a flicker of light.
A moment later, his eyes glowed with a vivid, unmistakable gold.
The pale cast of his skin began to lift as a gentle light stirred within him, growing stronger with each steady heartbeat.
It spread outward, spilling over the marble floor like warm sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
Everyone watched in awe as Cillian’s entire form began to glow, as if the darkness inside him had been driven out by the sheer force of the light rising from within.
Cillian blinked. “Evelyne?” His voice was hoarse and confused, but unmistakably his own.
The room exhaled as one. He was alive.
Holden spoke first. “How did you do that?”
Cillian slowly pushed himself upright, his hands trembling slightly, still flickering with golden light. When he spoke again, his voice was steady. “I am a keeper of light. The one chosen to purify the darkness. The one who can cleanse a soul consumed by shadow.”
Evelyne stared at him, stunned and disbelieving. “What?”
Cillian swallowed and let out a long breath. “I had to purge myself of her power, in order to be me.” His gaze locked onto Evelyne’s with fierce intensity. “It’s gone, Evelyne.” His voice broke as a sob escaped him, his face crumpling under the weight of relief and grief.
Evelyne threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “Of course you figured it out,” she whispered. “You’re the only one who could.”
Kaldrek let out a low exhale and felt something inside him finally ease.
They had done it. The Noskari might still haunt the world beyond the shattered palace walls, and more battles surely lay ahead, but none of that mattered right now.
Right now, he found himself captivated, unable to do anything but admire Evelyne’s strength.
He saw the pain in her eyes when she glanced at him, the betrayal and hurt that still lingered, and it cut deeper than any wound. Yet he managed a small, broken smile as he watched her hold her brother tightly, as if her love alone could somehow make him whole again.
Minutes passed before Kaldrek noticed the faint tremble of her hands and the subtle shift in her expression.
Then, suddenly, Evelyne jolted. Her arms slipped from around Cillian.
Kaldrek’s instincts flared as she gasped and fell backward, her body hitting the marble hard.
Every muscle in his body went taut as he watched her drop onto all fours, her fingers clawing at the floor.
“Evelyne?” he called cautiously, stepping forward. But she did not seem to hear him.
She clutched her chest, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps. When she lifted her head, Kaldrek’s blood turned to ice.
Her golden eyes flickered, a vivid red flashing through the irises.
Crack.
A scream tore through the throne room, raw and agonized, sharp enough to raise the hairs along Kaldrek’s arms. The sound of her pain was like claws raking across his heart.
“Move back!” he barked, throwing out an arm as he advanced.