Chapter 40
RAVENA
It’s a bloodbath.
The ground is slick with blood, and bodies are falling faster than I can count. Yet, more keep coming. My men are extraordinary—monsters in their own right, cutting down wave after wave of enemies—but it’s not enough. For every guard they kill, three more take their place.
I can feel it, the sharp edge of Malriks' power faltering. His magic is burning out, and without it, the slaughter will only slow. Which means sooner or later, they will be overwhelmed.
My heart lurches when I see Kieran hit the ground, a soldier pinning him with a dagger pressed to his throat.
For one, terrifying heartbeat, I think I’m about to watch him die.
But Malrik sees and, without hesitation, without a flicker of doubt, he’s there—his hands snapping the man’s neck with such vicious precision the crack echoes even over the storm.
I force myself to breathe, anchoring the power that is thrashing inside me. Panic won’t save him. Fear won’t save any of them. I have to believe in what I came here to do—believe that I can pull Darian back from the abyss and that, once I reach him, he will fight his way back to me.
My hands are steady as I lower the dagger into the bowl.
The blade glints red, smeared with both mine and Drew's blood, swirling together as if alive. For a moment, it looks almost beautiful, until the shadows lurking inside the mixture stir, intertwining like serpents ready to strike. It isn’t just blood anymore.
It’s a doorway. A tether to the rot clinging to Darian's soul.
I press my palm flat to the edge of the bowl, letting my magic pour out. It doesn’t trickle—it flows, hissing through my very being, spilling into the blood with a violent heat that makes the shadows writhe and thrash. They don’t want me here.
Good.
Because I’m not asking for fucking permission.
“Shadows that coil within the veins, draw forth the stain that clings to the living, Separate the decay from the heart that beats, take from me what you desire, let it burn and bind, that what walks in shadow may yet breathe in light.”
I whisper the words again, drawing the full weight of my magic from every hidden corner of myself, every shred that has been buried.
I refuse to fail. With each syllable, I pour not just power, but desperate pleading into the spell, reaching out to the gods, to anything that will listen, begging them to fracture the darkness that’s been forced into him, to wrest it from the cursed blood that binds him.
My veins burn with the effort, my body trembling under the strain.
A loud cry slices through the mayhem, and my eyes snap up to see Ronan pinned against a tree, Darian's hand clamped around his throat as the shadows circle him. My words falter mid-chant, the magic quivering in response. Vespera lingers at the edge, watching with that cold, twisted amusement, while Malrik restrains Kieran, dragging him back as the remaining men force them further from Ronan. I want to scream, to tear through the battlefield with my power, to rip him free—but I can’t.
Not yet.
Rage and desperation twist, as Ronan's pain rips through me from the inside out.
Darian's grip is merciless, twisting, and I can feel the dark surge of him feeding off it.
Shadows cling to him, thick and curling around his form as if drawn to the violence he commands.
Kieran lunges, forcing Malrik aside, but he crumples to the ground, clutching his head as if something invisible is crushing him.
“No, no, no,” I hissed under my breath, my silver eyes blazing, heart hammering.
My hands tremble as the magic surges hotter, more insistent, screaming at me to act, but I cling to control.
“Tell me where my granddaughter is hiding, and I might make this quick for all of you,” her voice echoes, and my stomach turns.
I clutch the dagger until my knuckles burn, blood slick and warm between my fingers, and pour every ounce of myself into the gods, pleading for them to make this work.
They are silent, deaf to my desperation, and my lungs tighten as I see him—Darian—forcing Ronan to his knees and wrapping a tendril around his neck.
Panic rises through me as he raises the sword above him.
Please no. Not Ronan. Not any of them.
He’s about to kill someone he loves, and even if I manage to save him, he will never come back from that.
The sky lashes out, rain turning to hail that pelts my skin, each shard a sting of hopelessness. My vision blurs with tears as I watch them being ground down, one by one, but then—I feel it.
The bond with Xarothar awakens, fierce and alive, a powerful tide of energy surging through me, brighter and hotter than ever. It isn’t just magic—it’s our connection, harmonising through the chaos.
His roar tears through the woods, shaking the very ground beneath us, drawing every eye upward—even Vesperas.
Xarothar.
He’s descending from the stormed sky, a force of raw power, every inch of him radiating strength and change I never thought possible.
Xarothar is enormous now—bigger than I ever imagined, a force of nature incarnate. Each spike along his head and down his spine catches the dim light from the moon, jagged and deadly, extending all the way to the tip of his tail. Relief and awe flood through me—I can’t believe he’s really here.
“You came.”
“For you, always,” he growls in my mind, that unshakable, fearless edge I know so well, protective but untamed. He rears his head back and roars, a sound that shatters the silence and shakes the trees, knocking some of the men off their feet.
“Save them,” I pleaded.
I turn my gaze to Vespera and freeze—true terror twists her features, something I have never seen or she’s ever known. Hope flares inside me as I finally have my dragon by my side.
“We’ll speak after this, Raven. Now get on with it.”
I know he’s not happy, but that’s not important.
The earth trembles as he lands near the crowd, deliberately apart from me, a sovereign shadow asserting dominance. His scales gleam beneath the storm, veins of silver weaving through the deep obsidian, streaked with violet that flickers like molten amethyst in firelight.
Xarothar towers above everything now, a predator unbound, no longer restrained, because I hold the weapon capable of killing dragons.
The small, helpless dragon I saved months ago is safe.
Movement jerks my gaze—Keirans panicked voice yelling from the crowd. Darian lifts the sword again, ignoring even Xarothar, aiming to strike Ronan.
I don’t think; I unleash a blast of wind, slamming him backwards just as the blade arcs toward Ronan.
My teeth dig into my lip, and my hands shake, but I hold firm to the ritual's magic.
Every surge of power runs louder through me, magnified by the bond I share with Xarothar—each heartbeat echoing with his strength, our magic entwined until I can't tell where his ends and mine begins.
Flames explode from his mouth, a torrent of molten heat that rips through the air and sets the Veilguard screaming.
His talons dig deep into the earth, rooting him like a living mountain, and every step he takes cracks the ground beneath him.
Fire snakes across the battlefield, consuming soldiers and trees alike, the wood splintering and hissing as it ignites.
Smoke coils into the sky, thick and black, and the stench of burning flesh makes me choke.
With Xarothar by my side, protecting everything I hold dear, I close my eyes and anchor myself in the spell.
But not before I notice the absence of Vespera; she is no longer in the crowd, and Darian is gone as well.
She ran, like the coward she is, because she knows nothing is protecting her from him.
And though the only way to end her is through Nyx, something tells me she would never survive a dragon’s fire.
I focus, whispering the words again and again, until the pull hits me full force—a desperate tug that tells me Darian is still out there, trapped in the darkness I promised to undo.
I seize the vile magic, dragging it from his soul with every ounce of myself, my heartbeat pounding against the strain.
It rushes toward the enchanted dagger, slithering like a living thing, growing heavier, hungrier, and I feel it tearing pieces of me away with it.
Cold spreads like ice through my veins, my body shaking as if it's forgetting itself, my fingers going numb around the blade.
Pain lances through my chest, burning through every part of me, and yet I keep pulling, keep giving, because he is worth it.
Because the ritual demands my offering, and my love for him outweighs my fear, it outweighs my own survival.
I taste my own blood and feel my energy seeping into the darkness. I realise I am giving myself—my life, my soul, every fragment of who I am—to save him, my first love.
Even as my vision clouds over, tears streaking my face, I let the ache of it swallow me whole, because if this is the price to save him, then I will pay it. I will burn myself away, piece by piece, until there’s nothing.
So close, I can feel it, the dark tether loosening, Darian’s soul almost free, almost back in reach.
But then, pain unlike anything I’ve ever known rips through me, spearing my chest. I gasp, a broken, guttural sound ripping from my throat as the ritual shatters in my hands, fragments of power slipping through my fingers and scattering into nothing before I can hold on.
I snap my eyes open, and for a second, all I see is darkness, black as a starless night. Then… then the hazel green I’ve loved for over seven years blazes into focus.
Darian.
My Darian is staring down at me.
My lungs fight for air as my hands shake uncontrollably, reaching for the hilt of his sword, the cold metal pressing against my bloodied fingers.
His weapon pierces my chest, through my heart, and yet my hands cling to it.
My lips part again, a strangled attempt at breath escaping through the pain, through the terror, through the desperate hope that he’s still mine to save—even as everything inside me screams that I’m slipping away.
Realisation hits him—his hair is messy, strands escaping the bobble, and the scar on his lip tugs as he struggles to speak—but I can hardly focus on him.
Around me, the terrified cries of the men I love—the ones I’ve bled for, fought for, and lived for, tear through me.
Xarothar's roar shreds the air as he senses our bond fading.
Darian's hand closes around the sword, and he pulls—and the world tilts violently. Pain rips through me, and I can’t help the strangled whimper that escapes as my body collapses forward…
right into his arms. He catches me effortlessly, yet the weight of my exhaustion and the ritual presses down on me, limbs quivering, heart shattering.
I cling to him, clutching at him like he’s the only tether keeping me from being lost to the darkness. My body feels hollowed, every drop of strength leeched away by the spell, but the warmth of him, solid and real against me.
“Fuck, what have I done?” Darian shouts, his voice cracking with panic and rage as his hand presses desperately against my chest, trying to stop the bleeding, but it's useless.
I taste iron on my lips as I cough, more blood spilling free, and he growls in frustration, eyes dark and haunted.
Every second, every drop slipping through his fingers, seems to shred him from the inside out.
His tears land on my cheek, warm against my chilled skin, each one a promise he couldn’t keep. His arms tighten as if sheer will alone could keep me here… as if holding me could defy the inevitable.
But I felt it. The slow unravelling of everything I was. Magic slipping thread by thread.
My body grew unbearably light, as though the realm itself had loosened its hold on me, letting me drift away.
Each breath became thinner, weaker. My heart faltered, stumbling inside my chest, every broken beat a cruel reminder that I was slipping.
The only thing anchoring me here—the only thing keeping me from surrendering to the dark—was them.
Darian’s arms are around me. Ronan’s voice breaking.
Keiran's rage. Malrik's fury. Xarothars roars, shaking the skies
I didn’t want to let them go.
With what little strength remained, I reached for him—my hand bloodied, barely brushing his, still pressed to the wound. His hazel-green eyes held mine, filled with an intensity that made me want to cry.
“Hold on. Gods, I’m so fucking sorry, Freckles. Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare die on me.” The words cracked, torn between fury at himself and a terror he couldn’t mask, his voice breaking in a way I’d never heard before.
The sound of that old name, soft and broken on his lips, almost made me smile. Almost. I wanted so badly to tell him it was okay, that I didn’t blame him… but my throat betrayed me. No words came, only blood and silence, and the truth I burned to give him stayed locked inside me.
I wish I could hold on for them, for every one of them, but all I feel is the weight of their fear, their anguish pressing into me as I start to slip away in Darian’s arms—each cry, each desperate plea wrapping around me like a chorus of fading whispers I cannot answer.
Everything…falling away. Until nothing remained but the quiet hush of the unknown.
And I let go.
To be continued…