Chapter 34 Thavros
Thavros
Icradled her to my chest, blankets bundled tight around her stony limbs, and ran.
The snow outside was biting, but I didn’t feel it. Couldn’t. My entire world had narrowed to the weight in my arms and the flickering pulse of our bond. Faint. Weak. But there.
She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but I could still feel her.
Not gone.
Not yet.
The mountain loomed ahead, the great stone face of it a blur as I pushed my body harder than I ever had. My legs burned, my breath tore through me like knives, but I didn’t slow. The entrance to the stronghold opened before me like the mouth of salvation.
She was heavier now. The stone had spread fully to her fingers, her toes, and her arms were stiff and cold. Her lips had gone still. Even her tears had frozen halfway down her cheeks.
But she was still mine.
I wouldn’t let her go. I couldn’t.
The great doors of the stronghold slammed open ahead of me. Orcs in the hall shouted in surprise, guards, servants, warriors, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t speak.
Someone stepped into my path. I snarled—actually snarled—and they stumbled back, wide-eyed.
“Thavros—what happened?”
“Move,” I growled. “Out of my way.”
I barreled through the halls like a storm, my footsteps echoing off the stone walls, each one a desperate heartbeat. The guards outside the war room barely had time to open the doors before I shoved through, nearly unseeing.
The crystal in the center of the table pulsed dimly. Its light was sputtering, fading—like her.
I carried Seraphina’s form up the curved stairs to my study, heart thundering, and carefully laid her on the wide divan. My hands lingered on her cheek, and even in the marble, she was beautiful.
Still.
But the bond was still there. Still there.
I kissed her brow.
“My darling, Seraphine,” I said, breathing her name like a vow.
“Hold on,” I whispered. “I’m going to fix this.”
Then I turned to the shelves and began tearing through scrolls.
I turned from her statue—no, from Seraphina, still warm in the bond—and began tearing through scrolls. My fingers fumbled with seals and ties, ink pots clattering to the stone floor. Dust clouded the air, mixing with my frantic breath.
“There was something,” I muttered. “Stone magic. Restoration rituals. I read it months ago…”
The texts blurred together. Diagrams of rune formations. Genealogy records. Aphrodite sigils. Nothing. Nothing that could tell me how to save her.
Behind me, the door opened again. I didn’t turn.
Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.
“Thavros,” Khuldruk said gently, his voice a strange mix of confusion and caution. “Brother… what’s going on?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I shoved another scroll aside, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted to break free.
More footsteps. Frema. A pair of guards. The room was filling, but it didn’t matter.
I could still feel her.
She was still in there.
A hand touched my shoulder.
Not forceful. Not commanding. Just… grounding.
“What is happening?” Khuldruk asked again, this time softer.
I shrugged him off, spinning back toward Seraphina. Her marble cheeks were streaked with petrified tears.
“I can still feel her,” I said, voice hoarse. “She’s not gone.”
Khuldruk stepped beside me, looking down at the crystal embedded in the center of the war table below. Its light was pulsing—erratic, sickly. Dying. Fading away like the very light of the crystal.
That was it. I could feel the confirmation sing through the bond. I knew what I must do.
“It’s the crystal,” I breathed. “It’s what’s killing her.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Thavros—”
“I have to destroy it,” I said, the words tasting like fire in my mouth.
Khuldruk’s expression darkened. “No. You can’t. That crystal holds our clan’s magic. You destroy it, you risk everything.”
I looked back at Seraphina. “I’ll risk everything. She’s my mate.”
“There is no wisdom in this,” he argued. “That is not in all your books. Not in all your scrolls.”
My voice dropped to a growl. I pounded my fist against my chest. “The answer isn’t in the books. It’s in me.”
Khuldruk reached for me again, but this time I bared my teeth. The calm scholar he knew was gone.
Now there was only the orc willing to burn the world for his mate.
Khuldruk’s face tightened, jaw flexing. “This is madness.” He took me firmly by the shoulders and shook me.
“No,” I said. “This is love.” I shrugged out of his grasp and turned to move.
And then he lunged.
We crashed into one another with the force of fury and desperation, knocking over scrolls and sending ancient tomes flying. His arm locked around my shoulder, trying to drag me away from the ledge above the war table. I shoved back, snarling.
“You’d sacrifice our people?” he growled, grappling for my waist.
“I’d save them. But I won’t do it by losing her!”
A brutal punch caught my ribs. I barely felt it through the haze. I elbowed him in the stomach, enough to break his grip, and staggered back, panting.
“She is more than just a gift. She is the key, Khuldruk,” I said, voice breaking. “And she’s mine.”
He reached again, but I was already turning, my eyes locking on the object beside the window.
The base of her old statue stood like a silent witness, still scarred from time.
I wrapped my fingers around it, hoisting it high above my head.
“No! Thavros!”
Khuldruk’s shout echoed behind me. He rushed to tackle me, but it was too late.
With a roar that came from somewhere far deeper than my lungs—something ancient and soul-bound—I hurled the base down onto the center of the crystal embedded in the war table.
The sound was not just a crack. It was a detonation.
Light burst in a wave that snuffed out the torches, seared the air, and knocked everyone to their knees. The crystal split in a dozen jagged directions before it shattered, spraying magic like stardust across the war room.
I stood there, panting, every muscle locked, heart slamming inside my chest.
"Brother, what have you done?"
Please, I begged silently. Let it be enough.