Chapter 15
Daed
I’ve spent too long fighting it. Too long holding back the darkness that rages inside me.
My body is a shell, worn and battered, every muscle aching with exhaustion, every bone heavy with the weight of restraint.
My mind is unraveling, hanging by a thread so thin, I can barely keep my grip. But I’ve done it for her.
For Amara.
Everything is for Amara.
I’ve lived in the shadows of this torment because I promised I would.
Because I swore I would hold onto what little control I have left, even if it means suffocating the part of me that craves the release, the freedom.
I’ve searched for her in every corner of this broken world, but she is always just out of reach, slipping through my fingers like sand.
Maybe... maybe she doesn’t want to be found.
Maybe she has moved on, leaving me to wallow in the darkness of my own making.
And it’s maddening.
The ache in my chest grows, the emptiness gnawing at my insides.
I can feel the darkness creeping in, filling the cracks in my fractured mind.
It calls to me, tempting me with the release I crave.
And for just a moment, I wonder, what if I had given in that day when I had the chance to end her life in the forest?
Would it have been better? Would I be free of this endless longing?
The thought haunts me, but before I can linger on it, the anger boils over, sharp and bitter, and I curse her in my mind.
This love… this twisted, suffocating love.
It torments me more than anything else in this world, dragging me deeper into madness with every passing day. If only I had never known her, never felt her warmth, never let myself believe that something beautiful could exist in the midst of the ruin I’ve made of my life.
But I am weak. I always have been. And I let the need for her consume me.
As the darkness wraps its cold fingers around my heart, the world tilts, spinning out of control. I feel it. My sword is heavy, but I’ve lost all sense of where it should go and in that moment, as the darkness pulls me under, I feel a sharp, searing pain shoot through me.
I blink, eyes blurry, and the world comes back into focus.
The sword is not where it should be. It’s not buried in Marlayna’s chest as I intended, not sending her to the void as I had planned. No... the blade is embedded in my own side, the crimson flow staining my hands as the pain flares and my breath catches in my throat.
I’ve done it again. I’ve failed.
I’ve fallen to the darkness within me, and now it’s too late.
“Daedalus!” Zyphoro’s voice is numb to my ears like a scream underwater.
My hand slips from around Marlayna’s throat as I stumble backwards, as Death Singer dissolves into smoke in my grasp, but I fall into my sister’s arms before I can hit the floor.
“You stupid fool,” she hisses at me as my hands press down on my wound, blood gushing between my fingers.
The world around me is a blur of shadows and pain, the darkness clawing at my vision as the stab in my side sends waves of agony through my body. The golden orb of Reon’s power flickers dimly, sputters like a dying flame, its grip on time beginning to slip as my consciousness wavers.
Suddenly the armless guard’s scream, long trapped in frozen silence, erupts with bone-chilling volume.
It shatters the quiet tension that hangs over the room, ripping through the air like a whip.
His mouth opens wide, but his voice is like the tearing of fabric, raw and violent.
The sound itself seems to crack the spell, and in an instant, everything comes rushing back.
Solena, caught off guard, is tackled to the ground by one of the reanimated guards, her shocked cry barely leaving her lips as his body slams into hers.
Her hands go instinctively to defend herself, but she’s overwhelmed, pinned beneath the weight of the male’s armor-clad form.
Her breath is crushed out of her, and she fights, desperate to regain her footing.
The other Fae guards, once frozen in Reon’s time-bind, spring into motion.
They are swarming, their movements swift.
Without their weapons in their hands, the Taramethos art of transmutation does not leave them defenseless for long.
They bend, reshape, and forge new weapons from the very essence of their surroundings.
One of the guards raises his hand, palm outstretched, and in a flash of fiery magic, the floor beneath him splinters, fragments of stone shooting upward. With a snap of his fingers, the jagged shards twist and meld into a spear as he swings it at Orios.
Without as much as a glance, Orios’ thick arm raises to defend himself, catching the spear in its swing, his teeth grit as it impacts but he does not move an inch.
Another guard, a lithe figure with silver hair, flicks his wrist, and the leather straps of his armor ripple and shift.
Within seconds, the straps have morphed into a long whip.
It lashes out, seeking Orios’ neck, but instead he fists its end then winds it around his wrist over and over, dragging the guard closer while still grasping the spear in his other hand.
Both Taramethos Fae go pale with panic as Orios steps forward, his massive frame holding them at bay. Muscles straining, he lets out a low, guttural growl.
Then he moves. Fast.
He grabs the whip-wielding guard and yanks him across the room, pulling him close enough to drive his forehead into the male’s nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays across both their faces.
Before the guard can recover, Orios tears the whip from his limp hand, spins, and loops it around the neck of the second Fae.
He pulls.
Hard.
The guard claws at the tightening coil, his face shifting from panic to purple, eyes spiderwebbing with red. His spear clatters to the floor a second before his body goes limp.
Orios lets him fall with a heavy thud.
Reon’s breath comes in ragged bursts, the golden orb in his palm flickering weakly as the massive Fae guard barrels toward him, weapon raised with a roar.
With a flick of his wrist, the world stutters, then slows.
A single heartbeat stretches impossibly thin. Time bends. The guard’s swing freezes midair, his face twisted in a snarl.
Reon pivots. His sword flashes like lightning, slicing through the guard’s side with a crunch as the blade bites into armor and flesh.
Time snaps back.
The guard howls in pain, stumbling, but Reon is already moving.
He slows time again, just long enough to duck beneath the guard’s wild counterstrike, the blade singing past his head by inches.
In that fleeting breath between heartbeats, Reon drives his sword deep into the guard’s abdomen, each motion clean and precise, guided by time itself.
Then, with a gasp, he lets go of the magic. The air crackles as the world resumes its natural pace and the guard collapses. But Reon’s strength begins to fail him. His knees buckle. He catches himself, teeth clenched, the last dregs of power slipping through his fingers.
The guard looming over Solena fumbles at his belt, hands trembling until they finally close around a dagger.
Reon’s eyes narrow.
He summons the last of his strength, golden sparks barely flickering between his fingers, until one catches, flaring to life.
Time stretches.
The dagger hovers in the air, suspended above Solena’s vulnerable form, the guard’s face twisted into a vicious sneer, frozen in that final moment.
In the unnatural stillness, Orios moves.
Like a shadow with teeth.
He snatches a fallen sword from the blood-slick ground, then, with a roar that shakes the room, he charges.
The guard doesn’t stand a chance.
Orios’s blade whistles through the air, cleaving clean through flesh and bone. The head separates from the body, which stumbles once, twice, then collapses. The severed head rolls across the floor, eyes still wide in disbelief.
There’s no time to breathe, no time to revel in the kill.
With a growl, Orios and Reon turn on the remaining guards. Steel clashes. Flesh yields.
The bedchamber rings with the sounds of violence, and blood stains the floor beneath them, deep and dark and final.
And then, the sound of heavy footsteps reverberates through the hall, voices echoing in the distance. Reinforcements. More warriors. Marlayna’s forces are far from depleted.
“We can’t fight them all,” Reon mutters, eyes flashing toward Orios.
With a shared look, the two of them lunge for the doors, slamming them shut just as the reinforcements reach the threshold.
They shove everything they can find against the doors—a dresser, a side table, a stack of velvet chairs—anything to delay the oncoming storm.
The wood groans in protest, but the barricade holds… for now.
In the chaos, I lie in Zyphoro’s arms, my gaze fixed on the ceiling above, struggling to stay conscious.
Her breath hisses through clenched teeth, the tension in her body palpable.
She mutters curses under her breath, her fingers tightly laced over mine, pressing harder against the wound in my side, sending waves of pain through me.
Meanwhile, Marlayna trembles in the corner, her eyes wide with fear, unable to summon the strength to move.
“We need to get out of here,” Reon says, his voice tense as the doors begin to bow under the pressure. “This won’t hold long.”
Orios lifts Solena onto her feet, his hands cradling her face with surprising tenderness before he presses soft kisses to her brow and chin, a stark contrast to the brutal scene unfolding around us.
“I’m fine, my love,” she murmurs, her small hands wrapped around his thick, vein-corded forearms as he looms above her.
“Get up, brother,” Zyphoro orders tersely. “We’ve overstayed our welcome.”
With Reon’s help, they haul me to my feet, but my legs feel like lead beneath me. I stumble, and they catch me again, Reon throwing my arm over his shoulder.