Chapter 2 #4
I hear the older man bark something to the younger—something about catching me.
My eyelids sag, the world spinning into a blur of black and crimson.
The last thing I remember are gray eyes above me, staring right into my soul as I collapse.
Then everything fades, leaving only the echo of his gaze and the older man’s words:
It’s her . . . the Spiritborn.
THANE
We’ve just returned from another skirmish, exhausted, blood still drying on my leathers, when Valen’s eyes snap open from a trance.
“There’s been a massive spike of Elemental magics,” he says, voice trembling in a way I’ve never heard before. His knuckles whiten around his staff. “A village in the western plains is under siege.” Then, softer—but heavier. “It’s her.”
A current of fire jolts through me. I sit up, my exhaustion forgotten. “Show me.”
Valen waves a hand over a scrying bowl, and I see glimpses—flashes of a young woman blasting shadow creatures into ash, her body aglow with raw power.
My heart stutters.
Holy hell, she’s real.
I don’t hesitate.
I grab my sword. “We go now.”
Valen doesn’t argue. “Get the others.”
Ten minutes later, I’m standing with him—alongside Rian, Kai, and Brenya. Four of us, plus the mage. Fire. Air. Water. Earth. Valen needs one channeler from each clan for this spell. It only works if the Elements stand together.
He steps forward, voice low and sure as he begins the incantation he’s spent months perfecting—a spell designed for one purpose.
To take us to her. The Spiritborn.
“Are you sure it’s her?” Rian asks, his tone tight. “You’ve spent half a year on this—”
Valen has been tracking spikes of Elemental magics for the past three years, believing the time of the Spiritborn was approaching. I don’t doubt him.
Valen’s voice hardens. “I’m positive it’s her.”
Then, he speaks the words:
“Water sees the path to commit
Earth shapes the needed split
Fire activates the hidden gate
Air sustains the traveler’s fate.”
He lifts his hand. The air tears open—violet energy swirling outward, warping the space around us. A portal. Rippling like a wound torn through reality.
“It will hold for ten minutes, Thane. That’s all the time we have to get her and get out.”
I give him a tight nod then glance at Rian, my friend, my brother. His eyes are tight, wary. I know he worries about me. I offer him a smile to reassure him, but his expression doesn’t change. I face the portal, ready to find the answer to end of this bloody conflict.
Valen and I step through.
Bracing for war. Bracing for her.
The moment we step through the portal, the familiar scent of fire and blood slams into me. I was forged in the fires of war—raised in blood and battle.
Smoke curls through the air, thick and suffocating, clinging to the charred remains of what was once a village.
The buildings—or what’s left of them—stand as blackened husks, the skeletons of homes that couldn’t withstand the onslaught.
The bodies—villagers and shadow creatures alike—litter the ground in a brutal display of devastation. Some were cut down, others burned.
Valen steps up beside me, gripping his staff, his gray-streaked hair catching the dim firelight. He sweeps his gaze over the wreckage, his expression unreadable.
“This is where the surge came from,” he murmurs. “She’s here.”
I don’t question him. If Valen says she’s here, she’s here. I scan the battlefield, searching, and then—
I see her.
At first, she’s just a figure in the chaos, standing amid the wreckage, breathing hard, her hands still trembling from the magics she unleashed.
But as she turns, everything stills.
Her dark hair, long and tangled, falls over her shoulders, streaked with soot and dust. Her skin—olive-toned beneath the grime and dirt—catches the flickering firelight, casting shadows over sharp cheekbones, parted lips, and eyes that burn even now.
And those eyes—dark, fierce, afraid. She looks wild. Like something pulled from the storm itself. And yet . . . there’s something amiss.
She isn’t armored. She’s weaponless. Her clothes are disheveled and haphazardly thrown on—like she had to dress in a hurry.
And yet—she’s the only one left standing.
I take in the scene around her—the bodies, the scorched earth, the lingering pulse of power in the air.
She is devastation and survival woven into one.
“Look at her,” Valen says beside me, his voice quiet. “She’s barely standing.”
And he’s right.
Her hands shake, her stance unsteady, as though she’s only now realizing she survived. Like she’s just now feeling the weight of what she’s done.
She’s not just another survivor. She’s something else.
Then, movement catches my eye. A few feet away, another woman moves beside her, gripping her shoulders. This one is paler, her long, red hair tangled but not as wild.
Another survivor.
For a second, I wonder if she’s another channeler, if she’s the one who helped the woman do this—but no. The way she holds the one who leveled this village, the desperation in her tight eyes—she wasn’t a fighter in this battle.
The woman who caused this destruction was trying to save her.
Her lips move, murmuring something I can’t hear, her grip tightening as the dark-haired one sways.
And then, from the shadows of collapsed homes and broken stone, villagers begin to emerge.
They step cautiously, their faces drawn tight with fear and disbelief, their eyes flicking between the destruction, the bodies, the girl at the center of it all. One older man stares at the woman at the center of the chaos like she’s something out of legend, his lips saying a prayer to the gods.
I exhale sharply, scanning the remnants of the village. These people have lost everything.
And yet, they’re looking at her like they know she’s the reason they’re still standing.
Then the dark-haired woman turns toward me, and for a moment, her dark eyes meet mine. Something flickers there—recognition, disbelief . . . wariness.
And I feel it.
Not in my chest. Not in my mind.
In the air itself.
Her magics flare one last time—raw, uncontrolled, untamed. A final, devastating pulse ripples outward, as if the Elements themselves are reluctant to leave her.
I hear Valen shift beside me.
“The Spiritborn,” Valen says, his voice low, certain. Like he’s known all along. He grips his staff tighter.
My breath halts when her eyes meet mine.
She’s a miracle. She’s a weapon. She’s not ready.
Neither are we.
Then I see her sway.
Valen barks out an order to catch her. Her knees buckle. Her friend tries to steady her, but I’m already moving. Before I can speak to her, her eyes flutter closed, her body going slack.
She crumples into my arms like a ragdoll—light, but humming with residual heat. Not just warmth. Power. The kind that lingers, even when the storm has passed.
I shift her gently, cradling her weight against my chest. She seems so fragile. Her head lolls against my shoulder, hair damp with sweat and ash. Her skin is too hot. Her pulse flutters at her throat—weak, but there.
Behind me, Valen exhales—a sound full of awe and exhaustion. “She collapsed the entire front with a single pulse. She stopped them.”
Stopped them? She obliterated them.
All around us, villagers begin to move with trepidation, like they’re afraid to wake a sleeping god. They’re staring at her, but no one dares come closer. Except the red-haired woman—her friend. She stumbles forward, tears streaking her face, her body shaking.
“Is she—?” she starts, voice catching.
“She’s alive,” I say.
Her friend sways with relief.
“Where is her family? Her parents?”
We have to let them know we’re taking her—that we need her. But the red-haired woman only shakes her head slowly, her eyes filling with tears. And I understand.
I shift the woman in my arms to hold her more securely and nod toward Valen. “We need to move. The portal will close soon.”
“I’m coming with you,” her friend demands.
Valen nods and begins to lead us back to the portal. The villagers gather, silent but watchful.
I look down at the women in my arms.
Her brow is furrowed even in unconsciousness, like her body is still bracing for the next wave. Her lips part on a stuttering breath, and the remnants of magics flicker faintly along her skin—tiny sparks that don’t know where to go.
We pass through the remnants of the village square—now a ring of char and blood and ash. My boots crunch over bone. Over scorched stone. I don’t look down. I keep my eyes on the path ahead. And on the woman in my arms.
Valen points to the shimmer of violet energy splitting the air ahead of us. I step through with her in my arms, her head tucked beneath my chin.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that the world won’t be the same when she wakes up.