TWENTY-FOUR #3
You are the storm, Amelia.
He shouldn’t be glad. He wanted her to be safe, far from here, but his heart pumped with something other than fear. Anticipation.
Amelia was coming for him.
Help them all when she arrived.
Demetrius glanced down as the ground shook again. His dominating gaze snapped to Silas. He muttered something under his breath, and the runes in Silas’s cuffs flared. An electric chill zapped at his wrists, draining more of his strength until his head drooped forwards again.
As Silas slipped into unconsciousness, one last whisper reached him. “You were born for this, Silas. This was always fated to happen. You are the end…and the beginning.”
A sense of panic and desperation fuelled her, magic pulsing beneath her skin.
Hot, volatile, and wild.
It came to her willingly now, pulled from the very bones of the place, from the rune crystals all around her.
Amelia moved down the corridor, breathing hard, boots crunching against gritty dirt. The air vibrated with power.
Ahead, two of them stepped out of a doorway, spotting her. It was only at that moment, when alarm crossed their faces, that she realised she had not covered her face following her moment of panic.
Her fingers flexed, before curling them into fists.
The first figure started forwards, hand lifting in warning.
He didn’t get the chance to speak or do anything at all.
Amelia extended her hand and ripped the magic from the lamps lining the corridor.
The light exploded in a shower of raging sparks, flinging a warm shockwave at her, her hair flying around as the guard flew back like a ragdoll.
The earth trembled beneath her feet.
She felt him then, a whisper of him somewhere up ahead, speaking softly to her through their bond.
Silas.
She pictured him shackled, drained, surrounded by these people. Every step she took sent cracks through the floor. They webbed across the walls, making noises like the earth itself were tearing apart. Her fury was a tempest, and they had no shelter from it.
More guards came. They didn’t stop her.
She didn’t even touch them.
Their weapons, drawn and glinting in the last of the lamplight, froze to their fingers before they collapsed under the weight of her presence.
Their knees buckled, bodies slumping, as she siphoned power from the humming lamps dry by the mere proximity of her passing and used that power to bring each guard to the ground.
It was a strange sensation, coursing through her, beating in time with her heart.
Like the use of magic was so innate, so normal, that it was coming without thinking.
Amelia didn’t know how she hadn’t found this part of herself before.
It was like reattaching a limb that had been removed from her and using it habitually.
Now it was a part of her, or she was a part of it.
She descended deeper, her senses sharpening.
She could feel him, Silas’ presence, like a flickering flame, growing dimmer.
Someone else was there too, with him, and when she focused, Amelia had an odd feeling the other presence was sharp and arrogant.
Their leader , her mind whispered to her, as though it were Silas himself supplying the answers she needed to what lay ahead.
Good , she thought, let the leader watch their empire fall.
A door of runed steel blocked her path. She reached out, let her focus surge into the etched surface, feeling the raw power flickering within the metal. It called to her. She answered without hesitation, pulling the magic into her own veins.
The door, the metal, shattered.
She stepped inside, hands shaking with residual energy begging for release, like perhaps Amelia had consumed more magic than her body was capable of holding. She could feel her veins vibrating with it.
There.
Silas was ahead, she sensed him with a swell of relief, the ache in her chest finally easing as she got closer to him.
A doorway, covered by nothing but a floating piece of fabric.
Amelia shoved it aside, coming face to face with a man. One that a part of her rational brain recognised, but in the heat of the moment, she saw someone who was not Silas, and so, they were her enemy.
She held up a hand, prepared to bring him to his knees, cause him the agony they were trying to cause them.
“Amelia,” the man said, voice low and perfectly calm, eyes boring into hers.
She paused, the ripple of recognition rising, until she focused on the man. It hit her.
It was the man who had approached them at the conference in the Spire, with an unusual interest in their expedition. Demetrius.
A soft groan, her head following the sound.
Her heart seized, a chill frosting her blood as she caught sight of him.
Silas was chained to a chair, slumped forwards, hair flopping to his forehead.
His skin looked grey, but his eyes snapped open the moment she had looked at him.
He met her gaze, and she could swear that the smallest amount of colour returned to his face, the blue of his irises sharpening as they locked eyes.
His expression was heavy with exhaustion, hands falling over the armrests, unmoving.
His chest rose and fell with a laboured breath.
“Amelia,” he croaked.
Demetrius took a casual step away from her, hands behind his back. “You’re too late,” he said calmly, like he’d won a game she hadn’t known they were playing.
The cave around them shook, dust raining from the ceiling above, a threatening rumble lingering even after the ground stopped moving.
Amelia didn’t lower her arm but shifted it towards Demetrius more resolutely. “Show me the daggers,” she demanded, voice unwavering.
Demetrius tilted his head. “You may not understand, but they belong to me. My people, The Gemino Tribe, forged them. They are mine.”
Amelia stared, taken aback. But at that moment, it was redundant. She gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers, the magic begging for release, to cause damage. “I don’t care.”
Demetrius raised one, unimpressed brow. “You care so little for the lost tribe and their artefacts? Something you had so painstakingly researched…you have no respect for them whatsoever?”
Amelia wanted to roll her eyes. “You have someone I care for bound to a chair,” she seethed angrily, gaze flicking to Silas, to his drawn features and lifeless-looking eyes.
“And he looks half-dead.” She swung her eyes back to Demetrius.
“Do you think I care to find a single fuck to give for a long dead civilisation in light of that?”
Silas let out a tiny, tired chuckle. Her heart squeezed, her desire rising to get him out of there.
“Not quite long dead,” Demetrius said, demeanour too calm. “I stand before you.”
Amelia clenched her jaw together and let some magic tear from her, felt as it soared across the space.
The magic forced Demetrius to his knees. He groaned under the strain of it, his body folding forwards and knees cracking on the hard stone floor.
“Do you?” she asked him, raising her chin, and looking down her nose at him.
Demetrius lifted his eyes, glancing up impassively. “Metaphorically, now.”
“Show them to me,” Amelia commanded, taking a menacing step closer, hand aimed at his head.
Demetrius rolled his jaw, glaring up at her, before reaching for his thick cloak. He pulled it aside, revealing several large, bulging pockets. He pulled out one dagger, encased in a handsome sheath, before reaching for the second.
Amelia felt the immediate sense of relief at laying her eyes on them. She met his eyes and smiled. “Thank you.”
Her hand flicked, flinching only a little as Demetrius was flung into the wall, his head knocking against stone, eyes rolling back into his head before slumping to the floor.
Amelia turned for Silas and with two long strides, she was falling to her knees before him. His eyes flickered as he watched her, looking close to losing consciousness.
He lifted a corner of his lips weakly. “My storm,” he whispered, as though he had no energy to speak at his normal volume.
Amelia swallowed uneasily, eyes looking around madly, hands tugging at the shackles around his wrists to no avail.
“What…”
“The pendant,” he muttered, head drooping again, eyes closing.
Amelia reached for the heavy thing sitting against his chest, lifting it quickly. The heavy medallion lay against her palm, and she stared, feeling a strange kinship, like it called to her. She dropped it to the ground, turning her attention back to him.
Silas drew in a long breath, shoulders straightening and head rising. His light blue eyes opened, the light reigniting in them.
“Amelia,” he rasped. Not for the first time, the sound of her name had her heart jumping. His forehead came to rest against her own. “You came…”
Her eyes closed as she felt the warmth of him seeping into her cold pores. “Of course I did.”
Something sang to her, a throbbing magic nearby. Her eyes snapped open, falling to the shackles.
She pulled her head away from Silas and lay her hand across one, the cool metal against her fingertips. The rune magic flowed into her effortlessly.
“Amelia,” he said, a warning, “you shouldn’t use too much…you’ll crash.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, teeth gritted as the shackle cracked and fell apart.
She moved for the next one, but it was clear that Silas was right.
She felt it, barrelling for her at an alarming speed.
An aching tiredness so complete, she might keel over any moment.
It started in her head, a pounding in her temples.
Then it flowed through her limbs, making them grow heavy.
Just a little more , she urged herself.
Amelia took the magic from the other shackle, satisfied when it cracked, and Silas was free. He fell forwards, but she was there, ready for him and catching him before he hit the ground.
“Come on,” she said, straining under his weight. “If you can, I’m going to need your help so we can get out of here.”
A soft gasp from behind caught her attention. Amelia turned her head, freezing in place as her eyes fell to a person in the doorway.
Silas twitched in her arms.
A woman. Not just a woman. Silas’ mother, looking upon them in alarm, Silas draped heavily across Amelia as he struggled to stand.
“What…” Amelia looked at Veralind, confusion swamping her.
“She told them about us—” Silas started but didn’t need to elaborate.
Veralind’s face was pallid, drawn, chest rising and falling in the heavy robes draped across her chest. Her blue eyes flicked between them, before stopping at the pendant on the floor by her feet.
“She…” Amelia paused to swallow. “She’s why you’re here?”
Veralind glanced back up, lips tight.
Fury took her. The lanterns on the walls shattered, plunging the chamber into a flickering darkness, sparks shooting in all directions. Veralind made a noise of alarm. The very foundation of the cavern trembled as her magic surged, tearing through the stones, cracking the walls.
His mother took a trembling step. Amelia’s head snapped to her, eyes narrowing. “Take one more step,” she dared, raising her hand to aim at the woman, her other arm around Silas’ shoulders. keeping him steady.
“Amelia, you don’t understand—”
She met his mother’s gaze, fire in her eyes. “No. You don’t.”
Then she brought the ceiling down.
Her free hand curled into a fist and the entire cavern rumbled like they were in the middle of a thunderstorm, rocks and dust tumbled down around them, between them.
Veralind cried out as she stumbled back, narrowly avoiding being flattened by fragments of roof.
The underground cavern screamed all around them, the noise reverberating.
She watched without remorse as Veralind knocked into a wall behind her at the same moment debris struck her on the forehead and she slumped back.
Amelia felt it ripping through her own bones, arm dropping heavily to her side, eyes drooping.
“Finley,” she said weakly. They both swayed in their attempts to stand upright. “We need to leave.”
“Take the pendant,” Silas murmured, gesturing feebly.
Amelia’s gaze darted to it. Even from a distance, she could feel the thrum of power radiating from it.
“Why?” she asked warily.
“It could be useful.”
Amelia released Silas carefully, before bending to retrieve it. The same affinity flowed into her, the strength of it startling. Without a word, she shoved it into her pocket.
The ground shuddered violently beneath them. They staggered, Silas’ arms coming around her to steady them both.
Amelia broke away and blundered to Demetrius’ motionless body, half-buried in rubble. Veralind slumped nearby against a wall, blood streaking down the side of her face.
Without hesitation, Amelia retrieved the blades from Demetrius, slipping them into her coat.
Her breaths came fast now, exertion catching up to her. Silas stepped to her side, a hand settling at the small of her back.
His touch injected the strength she needed. Gave her focus.
One last thing.
She climbed over broken stone, nearly losing her footing as the floor heaved again, but caught herself before falling. Stopping before Veralind, she crouched.
“What are you doing?” Silas asked, voice strained.
“She wouldn’t have come here without a way to leave again,” Amelia muttered, already rifling through the woman’s pockets.
Her fingers closed over small, clinking items, pulling out Waystone chips. Amelia held them in her open palm.
“Choose one furthest from here,” Silas said, glancing down.
Amelia sifted through the chips. City of Lunarian. Ivory City. Southern Seaside. Lux hold. East Town …
The breath caught in her throat, a plan forming in her mind. Amelia stuffed all the chips into her pocket, keeping one between her fingers, turning to Silas.
“I know where we can go.”
Silas studied her face, the ghost of a smile flickering. Until his eyes drifted to Veralind’s still form, a shadow passing over his expression.
“It’ll all stop once we leave,” Amelia said quickly, sure her magic would dissipate the moment they were gone. “She’ll…be fine.”
Silas shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” But she saw the truth in his eyes. “Let’s go.”
His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. She nodded and pressed the Waystone chip between her fingers, activating the rune etched into its surface. Magic swirled around them, pulling them uncontrollably.
When the dust settled, they were gone.