Chapter Thirty-Nine
Many find themselves bewildered by Fae magic, often mistaking it for the workings of witchcraft, but they could not be more wrong.
Fae magic is of a gentler nature, woven not for combat, but for enchantments of protection and veils of illusion.
It does not lash out like a curse nor scorch like a spell. It cloaks, it whispers, it deceives.
Unlike witches, who must devote years to study, labouring through ancient tomes, memorising incantations, and mastering the volatile pulse of power, a Fae is not taught. Magic flows through their veins as effortlessly as breath. It is not learnt; it is lived.
And yet, to think them weak is a grave mistake.
There are whispered tales of a Fae king, a master of illusions so potent he unravelled the mind of his own queen, casting her into a madness of his own making.
They say he conjured such horrors upon enemy armies that men, overcome by phantasms, turned blade upon brother, leaving battlefields soaked in their own blood.
But even he, this dark king of illusions, feared one.
Only one other king was said to draw dread into his marrow: the first wyverian king, the shadow-walker.
Legend claims the Fae king, trembling behind glamour and deceit, sought to ensnare the shadow-walker with illusion.
But when the truth reached the ears of the wyverian king, he struck first, kidnapping the Fae king and rendering all his trickery useless.
For shadows, it seems, cannot be fooled by mirrors.
Tabitha Wysteria
Kage found Arden high among the trees where the true heart of Floridia had once thrived.
Though he tried to keep his attention forward, he couldn’t stop himself from casting a glance downward where the lush green of the forest floor had become a graveyard, strewn with bodies.
Above, the fire crept on like a slow, consuming tide, devouring what remained of the city.
It was the silence that proved hardest to bear.
Most cities pulsed with some echo of life—laughter, footsteps, the distant murmur of voices, even the sharp sting of screams. But here, the only sound that met Kage’s ears was the crackling hiss of fire curling over timber, leaping from branch to branch like a living thing with hunger in its belly.
He followed Arden wordlessly, ignoring the bodies that lay slumped along the pathways and hanging platforms. Arden pressed ahead with grim purpose, his steps driven, as if he knew precisely where to go.
The fire had spread far and wide, some of the arboreal homes were already beyond reach, swallowed whole by flame, while others clung to the illusion of peace, untouched but shadowed by smoke.
As they passed, Kage’s stomach knotted with growing unease. Floridia might have been smaller than the other capitals, but it had still been a city. A proud one. A stronghold of the Fae, built on ancient magic and guarded by warriors of legend.
And yet… wherever he looked, death met his eyes. The still forms of its people lay strewn like fallen leaves, lifeless and silent.
An entire city, snuffed out like a candle.
‘Spirox, search for survivors,’ Kage commanded, and without hesitation, the shadow-crow launched into the air, vanishing into the smoke-thickened skies in pursuit of life.
Kage paused at the edge of the platform, casting a fleeting glance downwards, his thoughts momentarily lingering on the great white wolf below.
Alone. His lips curled into a quiet curse, irked by his own concern for such a formidable creature, and yet he could not quell it. With a sigh, he pressed on.
He found Arden standing motionless at the mouth of a bridge, his gaze fixed upon the tree that rose on the other side, as if waiting for it to speak.
‘We should move quickly,’ Kage urged, his voice low. ‘The winds are turning. The flames will spread more fiercely soon, and the air will thicken with smoke.’
Arden gave a brief nod, and together they crossed the narrow bridge.
What awaited them was grim—a pair of fallen guards, blood trickling from eyes and ears like crimson tears.
Kage knelt beside one, fingers pressing to a lifeless throat though he already knew there was nothing to find.
Still, he checked every body they passed, each one a silent echo of what had once been.
Eventually, their path led them to what could only be the throne room. A colossal seat, woven entirely from ancient branches, stood vacant in the gloom, a monument to a rule extinguished.
Arden pressed on, and Kage followed, slower, more cautious. They came upon the royal dining chamber, and there lay the king, sprawled lifeless upon the floor.
Kage’s eyes narrowed as he noted the neat line of corpses slumped against the far wall, their positioning precise.
‘Black Lotus?’ he asked, voice taut with unease.
Arden nodded and crouched by the fallen king, two fingers against the throat in a gesture more of ritual than hope. He muttered a curse beneath his breath.
‘Only witches could have wrought such devastation,’ Kage muttered, his voice heavy with quiet certainty.
‘Upon an entire city?’ Arden asked, doubt shining in his green eyes.
‘You saw what they did to Fireheart.’
‘And against the Black Lotus?’ Arden gestured towards the fallen bodies, their lifeless forms strewn across the marble like broken statues.
Kage exhaled, the sound more wearied than frustrated. ‘There may be other forces at play…’
The thought of divine interference prickled at the edge of his mind.
He had witnessed Freya’s unnatural power.
Who was to say there weren’t others? Ancient beings, awakened or enraged, choosing sides in the shadows.
If such powers had allied with the witches, it might explain how Floridia, a city fortified by magic and warriors, had crumbled so swiftly, so utterly.
‘We must find the queen and her daughters,’ Arden urged, already striding from the ruined hall.
Kage held his tongue. The likelihood that the royal bloodline had survived was minimal, but there was no kindness in voicing such grim logic.
He followed the Fae in silence, the two of them weaving through grand chambers reduced to tombs, pausing now and then to check for any sign of breath amidst the ruin.
‘They can’t have gone far,’ Arden said as they finally emerged back into the open air. They stopped at a bridge, the once-splendid arches now blackened with soot. ‘Perhaps they were taken. The queen and her daughters may be prisoners.’
‘To what end?’ Kage’s voice was flat, unyielding. He did not want to speak the truth aloud: the witches were not known for mercy. Their war was one of erasure, not capture.
But before Arden could respond, the air fractured with a sudden blast of magic. The force hurled them both backwards, flames and ash scattering in its wake. Kage scrambled up, vision blurred, ears ringing, only to find a cluster of witches and warlocks standing at the far end of the bridge.
They were close enough that he could see the glint of their eyes, glimmering violet, alight with cruel delight.
‘Told you someone should’ve stayed behind,’ one of the witches drawled, her voice laced with amusement. ‘Someone always shows up.’
Kage and Arden shared a fleeting glance.
A silent, grim acknowledgment before spinning on their heels and bolting for cover.
The hiss of magic sliced through the air, slamming into the timbered walls of the huts perched precariously among the trees.
Kage darted into one, ducking behind its frame as a blast shook the branches beneath his feet.
‘They’re crossing!’ Arden’s voice rang out, distant yet sharp.
Cursing under his breath, Kage sprang from the shelter, dagger already in hand, his stride swift and sure as he made for the bridge. As fate would have it, Arden arrived at the same moment, eyes alight with urgency.
‘You cut,’ Arden commanded, summoning a shimmer of golden light to his palm. ‘I’ll cast.’
Kage didn’t argue. His blade bit into the rope, thick and stubborn as old bone.
Beside him, Arden hurled the golden spell across the expanse, the magic flaring outward in a protective veil.
Shouts erupted from the witches behind them, and moments later, a strange dust fell upon Kage’s shoulders like ashes from a dying star.
‘Hurry,’ Arden said through gritted teeth. ‘This shield won’t last.’
Kage muttered another curse, sweat slicking his brow. A sharp caw split the air, and he looked up just in time to glimpse Spirox, his loyal shadow crow, clawing viciously at a warlock’s face. The man screamed as he toppled off the bridge, vanishing into the smoke and leaves below.
Arden joined Kage at the rope, their efforts frantic and furious now.
The witches surged forward, their spells repelled by Arden’s magic until one, more potent than the rest, struck Kage squarely in the shoulder.
The impact hurled him backwards with brutal force, his dagger spinning out of sight into the abyss.
He landed hard, breath stolen, vision spinning. Behind him, he heard Arden let out a furious curse.
Kage jolted upright, the sharp sting in his side telling him he was bleeding but he paid it no mind. His gaze swept the chaos around him, hunting for the next threat. Two witches loomed above, their hands already crackling with summoned flame.
But he was quicker.
With a fluid surge, he sprang to his feet, his fist slamming into one witch’s throat. She crumpled wordlessly. The other gasped as his boot struck her hard in the gut, doubling her over. In a single, swift movement, he snatched the knife strapped to her hip, its hilt still warm from her skin.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Arden, teetering near the edge of the bridge, locked in desperate combat with three attackers.
Wasting no time, Kage drove his blade into the witch’s calf.
Her scream tore through the air, a brief, brutal sound, just enough of a distraction to give him his opening.
He dashed to Arden’s side, plunging his stolen blade into a warlock’s back. The second he struck with a well-aimed blow to the head, sending him crashing to the ground. Arden, without pause, shoved the last one over the edge, his breath ragged.
Panting, both men looked at each other.
Arden’s green eyes suddenly widened in sudden alarm.
‘Kage, look out!’
Kage spun just in time to see the witch with the wounded leg, fury etched across her face. Magic exploded from her palm, the force of it striking him squarely in the chest.
And before he could so much as cry out, the world slipped from beneath him.
He tumbled, backwards, over the edge.