Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
It felt like my very bones were on fire, every inch of me searing from the inside out. Light blared from my eyes—blinding, unrelenting—until I couldn’t see anything but the white-hot glow that swallowed the world.
The power coiled tighter, wrapping me in a cocoon of light so dense I could barely breathe. Somewhere beyond it, I heard Zander’s voice break, Ashe! Raw, desperate, before the storm inside me finally tore free.
I let it go.
The Light Storm ripped out of me with the force of a detonation, an unbridled explosion of lightning and fire that shattered the air.
It hurled the others back in violent arcs, their bodies thrown like leaves in a gale.
The backlash slammed me to the ground, knocking every bit of breath from my lungs as my magic roared away from me.
It rose high, a swirling vortex of white-blue lightning threaded with veins of Dark Fire, writhing like a living thing. Then it tilted, almost with purpose, and streaked across the battlefield—headed straight for the dragons locked in combat above.
Fear gripped my chest so tightly it hurt. I’d unleashed something I couldn’t call back, and all I could think was—Gods, what if I’ve just doomed the rest of our riders?
The Light Storm streaked higher, cutting through the fray, and for one agonizing heartbeat I thought it was going to tear straight through a red Swordtail and its rider from Warborn.
But when it reached them… nothing. The light passed over the pair as gently as sunlight on a warm spring morning, glinting harmlessly off scarlet scales before rushing past. My breath caught—maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t destroy everything in its path.
Then it hit the black dragon the Swordtail had been fighting.
The beast’s scream was like metal tearing apart.
Smoke poured from its scales as if something deep inside it was burning alive.
The stench of scorched flesh and magic hit the air, heavy and choking.
It thrashed violently, snapping at the air, and its rider—one of the Blood Fae—was thrown from the saddle, tumbling headlong toward the ground.
The fae’s scream cut off with a sickening thud, but the dragon’s roar didn’t carry rage—it carried something else entirely.
Relief.
It circled once, almost unsteadily, before gliding to the ground.
I swore I saw the black fade from its scales, the darkness bleeding away until green shimmered beneath the smoke.
Then its great head lowered, and with a final, rattling exhale, it collapsed.
Its body stilled, and the battlefield seemed quieter for a moment, as if the world had just witnessed something far greater than a single kill.
Several other black dragons were caught in the trailing edge of my storm, their screams cutting through the clash of battle.
Some bucked midair, others faltered in their wingbeats, scales beginning to smoke just like the first one.
Then, a sound split the air—a high, piercing shrill that turned my stomach.
I’d heard it before. The last time Severeth had recalled her forces.
Every black dragon in the sky reacted instantly, banking hard in unison and wheeling toward the north.
They didn’t scatter. They moved as one, into a churning wall of dark cloud that hadn’t been there moments ago.
It swelled like a living thing, boiling outward to swallow the horizon, and I knew without a doubt Severeth had crafted it.
“Is she retreating?” Riven called, her voice carrying disbelief.
“I would if I was her,” Cordelle answered grimly. “Whatever that Light Storm spell does, it’s lethal to the black dragons.”
Their words cut deep because a part of me, one that still clung to the memory of hatchlings and the bond I shared with Kaelith, felt like I should be trying to save those creatures.
They hadn’t chosen this. They’d been stolen before their first flight, warped by dark magic and forced into servitude.
But war didn’t care about what should be.
As the last of my light reached the cloud bank, it flared against the swirling darkness like a comet hitting stone, trying to pierce its way in.
The shadows shuddered, the magic within them fighting mine, and for an instant the whole sky was caught between light and dark.
Then the blackness folded in on itself, swallowing my magic whole.
They were gone.
And I knew—saving them wasn’t an option. Not here. Not now. Not in war.
The cloud bank churned as it receded, pulling back toward the horizon like a living shadow slinking away to regroup.
“Severeth is retreating,” Riven said, her voice tinged with unease. “But that won’t stop the army. We have to find a way to stall those forces. There aren’t enough members in First Guild to fight an army that size.”
Her words barely registered because my gaze had already shifted to Kaelith and Hein. They stood side by side, unnervingly still, their wings tucked tight. Hein’s massive head hung low, angled toward the ground as if his entire focus was fixed on something at his feet.
I followed his line of sight for half a heartbeat before my attention snapped back to the retreating cloud.
First things first, I told myself, gripping the edge of my thoughts like a lifeline.
With Severeth gone, our bonds should return.
Hopefully, she’ll think twice before attempting that spell again.
Riven scanned the battered field. “Where is Zander?”
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. My eyes darted to Hein again—this time not at his bowed head, but at the spot where my mate should have been. My stomach turned to stone.
The blast. I hadn’t seen him get up after the magic unfurled.
I’d been so fixated on the cloud, on what my Light Storm could do, on what it had done, that I hadn’t thought about the cost Zander paid to give me the power for it. The price I’d pulled from him without hesitation.
A cold, hollow fear surged through me.
I sprinted toward Hein, my boots tearing up dirt, heart hammering so hard it drowned out the shouts around me.
Kaelith and Hein stood so still they might have been carved from stone, their great eyes tracking me as I ran. The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet, every step heavier, my lungs pulling in air that refused to fill them.
They didn’t move, not a shift of wing or twitch of tail, as if they were holding their breath with me.
I skidded to a stop, dirt spraying under my boots, and the world narrowed to the figure lying at Hein’s feet.
Zander.
He was sprawled on his back, his armor darkened by dust and ash, his face pale, ashen in a way that felt wrong for him, the man who always seemed to burn brighter than the rest of us. His chest rose barely, but there was no spark in him. No strength.
I dropped to my knees so fast my palms stung against the packed earth.
“Zander.” My voice cracked as I leaned over him. “Zander, look at me.”
Nothing. No flicker in those storm-colored eyes. No movement beyond that shallow, fragile breath.
I reached for him through our private bond, desperate for the brush of his presence, the solid, grounding weight of him in my mind.
What came back was nothing.
No warmth.
No light.
Only darkness—an empty cold that devoured every frantic thought I sent his way.
My throat closed, with the taste of copper on my tongue. My hands shook where they gripped his shoulders.
“Oh, gods…” My voice was barely a whisper. “What have I done?”