32. THIRTY TWO #2
Through the corner of my eye, I caught a brief glimpse of Namarelle among the fleeing crowd. Her wing stubs fluttered against her back in ragged bursts as she ran. She moved like the rest, yet her otherworldly form was a reminder that not all who fled belonged to this world.
The leader raised his hand and motioned for his companions to charge at us.
“Bring her to me!” the figure bellowed, staring menacingly at me. “Her existence belongs to the gate now.”
I wasn’t concerned for Seraphina, the brothers or their guards.
I wanted only to get away from them all.
Whatever they claimed to be or promised.
I no longer trusted any of them. My daggers were my only allies now, and if survival meant using them and breaking free.
That's what I would do. If I stayed, my soul would be taken. If I ran, at least I had a chance.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Torin’s hand shift as he yanked a weapon from inside his jacket.
“She’s of no value to you,” Seraphina boldly replied as she stood beside Fionn, her white hair billowing.
“Her existence hangs by a spider's silk, which will snap if you take her.”
Fionn placed his hands inside his coat and withdrew two weapons.
He turned and nodded to Cillian, who ran quickly from the manor, his eyes communicating an unmistakable message.
Now they weren’t the brothers who were disagreeing only moments ago.
They were brothers, ready to stand at each other’s side at any cost.
“She belongs to no one!” Cillian said, his stance altering to that of my protector.
For once, he was right, I didn't belong to any of them. The leader ignored Cillian and advanced, his tread resonant as though his feet were many stone in weight.
Motioning to at least a dozen of his companions, they trailed a short distance behind him. I could see their fearsome, chiselled faces adorned with mythical tattoos and glowing olive eyes. They appeared otherworldly, yet unlike the brothers, they looked hard-edged and ruthless.
Weapons gleamed in their hands, their metallic surfaces catching the little light that remained. For a moment, I thought I saw cryptic symbols glowing on their skin, as if branded, but the darkness made it impossible to confirm any details.
The leader raised his hand, commanding his companions to charge forward.
***
Cillian yanked at my arm, dragging me toward the woods with such force that I stumbled, barely managing to keep up with him. Every instinct told me to break free of his hold, but I knew I had to follow him.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Namarelle running after us, swift as a startled rabbit. Her red hair flowed behind her like a veil, and her wing stubs beat against the air in ragged bursts. She looked like she might lift off at any moment.
At that instant, the Gatemen charged. Torin leapt forward, wielding a curved weapon that glowed with an eerie, ice-blue light.
Fionn followed closely, his blades moving with the precision of a samurai swordsman.
I wondered how they had concealed such weapons, but by now, I had learned not to question what seemed impossible.
The glow pulsed with a low, unpleasant hum that seemed to vibrate through the ground. Fionn and Torin engaged the Gatemen with dazzling speed. Steel clashed amid a blur of twisted bodies, enraged cries, and stomping feet that I could barely follow.
From the edge of the Sternwacht Grounds, more of the Ecliptuari began to appear. They had remained motionless until this moment. Then Seraphina’s voice rose above the chaos, her words echoed in the wind:
“Obedience is the chain, but the chain is breaking. Attack and protect the mark of the Seraphel Order at all costs.”
The words rippled through the air. The Ecliptuari tilted their heads in eerie unison, whispers curling from their lips. For the first time, they stepped forward, drawn into the chaos, and charged ahead.
“This time you die,” Fionn bawled. “We’ll no longer permit your interference!”
“Surrender her to The Cohort of the Gate Order or be destroyed,” the leader bellowed, leaping into the air like a terrifying spectre. “We’ve searched far and wide and will not retreat empty-handed. again.”
Cillian moved quickly towards me and pulled me toward the shelter of trees.
“Move, now." I couldn't help glance back at the spectacle as I ran. Even Seraphina was fighting, her white hair streaming behind her as she wielded blades with the same deadly precision as the brothers. She moved with the ferocity of a Valkyrie.
"We must reach the vortex," Cillian urged me forward, his grip tight. "Your survival is all that matters now. "
All that matters is that you tried to sacrifice me. I ripped my arm free. That anger fuelled my adrenaline, carrying me faster than his reach.
The vortex loomed ahead, and this time, I wasn’t running because the charming creep told me to.
The ground shook beneath my boots, dust swirling everywhere as the vortex spiralled, pulling at the air.
Branches snapped overhead, but I kept moving, my lungs on fire.
Noticing our escape, three of the Gatemen broke away and sprinted toward us.
Cillian stopped to face them as they closed in.
“Run, Tilly! Whatever happens, don’t stop!”
I fled through the trees, the wind whipping against my face. My heart lurched at the cries behind me, and though I caught a glimpse of the deceiver in danger, I kept running. I had believed in him, even trusted him, but now that trust tasted like dirt in my mouth.
I forged ahead, crashing through the branches, thinking only of the lake and the safety beyond this place. I gripped my daggers tightly, prepared to strike if anyone tried to drag me back.
Behind me, the Lower Grounds shook with combat. Steel rang in my ears, but I didn’t look back. Their fight was theirs. My survival was mine.
Sadness and rage twisted together inside me. Escape should have been victory, but right now it felt like a loss.
For so long, I had dreamed of escaping the chaos and turmoil that had defined my life since that fateful morning on the road to the village. Now, the thought of home and my former life felt like a distant memory.
I paused by the gurgling stream, momentarily captivated by the soothing sound of rushing water.
Ahead, the Moonfall Garden gazebo came into view, bringing back memories of the evening Cillian and I had spent there. It marked a significant transition in our relationship, and the memory now filled me with dread because I no longer felt I could trust him.
“Don’t be afraid,” the gentle voice of Namarelle echoed in my mind.
“I can communicate with your thoughts.” She spoke. I remained where I was, clutching my knives as she approached. Prisoner or not, she was still dangerous.
“I can get you to the vortex quickly and help you escape,” she said.
She gripped my hand and led me toward the slope overlooking the Moonlake. As we moved, her wings unfurled from the stubs on her sides, spreading into their full, uncanny splendour. I didn’t trust her, but I knew she could help me get away quickly. That was the only reason I allowed her to lead me.
“We must reach the vortex. If I can get home, I can help you,” she said, guiding me toward a tear in the air that split open like lightning. It flared and widened, emitting an unnatural light.
Namarelle’s wings beat against the smoke all around us, and as our hands locked together, I felt my feet lift off the ground.
Suddenly, three Gatemen burst from the woods, blocking the path to the vortex.
Panic clawed at my throat, and I screamed.
Namarelle broke contact with me, and I tumbled hard to the ground.
She cried out and flew off toward the trees.
Prisoner or not, she was the kind who saved herself first.
The nearest Gateman seized my arm before I could rise.
His grip was like iron, crushing, and I knew escape was impossible.
Enveloped in the folds of his billowing cloak, I stared into his soulless olive eyes.
His granite-chiselled face shifted with the light, filling me with primal terror.
He was the creature who had led the men through the forest. He was the one who had warned me not to trust the brothers.
He wore the same clothes as the horseman from my nightmare.
The one who had sucked the soul out of the girl.
I knew him. Horous.
“You will come with me now,” he said, his voice impossibly deep.