Chapter Forty-Four
The valley held its breath.
The older orc still stood at the front of the line, weapon lowered just enough to signal hesitation without surrender.
Around him, the others shifted uneasily, boots grinding against frost, shoulders rolling as if they were trying to remember how not to charge.
The shadows had pulled back to the edges of the sky, no longer bold, no longer falling freely, and the Hollows hummed beneath us with a low, watchful resonance that made my teeth ache.
For the first time since we’d crested the ridge, the orcs were listening.
I felt it in the way their gazes flicked between me and the land itself, in the way their anger no longer had a single, clean direction. Confusion had crept in, and with it, the fragile possibility of understanding.
The older orc tilted his head slightly, studying me with eyes that had learned patience the hard way.
“If you didn’t send the dark,” he said slowly, “then name the hand that did.”
I opened my mouth to answer.
I never got the chance.
The air above me ignited.
It wasn’t fire. It wasn’t lightning. It was light, pure, searing, impossibly bright, erupting directly over my head like a star being born.
The force of it knocked the breath from my lungs, my knees buckling as the glow intensified, compressing into a blinding spear of radiance before I could even think to shield myself.
“No—!” Keegan shouted.
The blast tore forward.
It slammed into one of the orc leaders standing several paces behind the elder, a massive figure with braided hair and a scar splitting his brow. The impact was brutal and precise, striking him square in the chest and hurling him backward as if he weighed nothing at all.
He hit the ground hard.
The sound echoed across the valley, a wet, final thud that cut through the hum of the Hollows and the hiss of frost like a knife.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving me reeling, my ears ringing, my vision swimming with afterimages. I staggered forward instinctively, my heart slamming against my ribs as the sight of the fallen orc snapped into focus.
He wasn’t moving.
“No,” I whispered, horror flooding through me. “No, no—”
The older orc roared.
It wasn’t a battle cry. It was grief, rage, and betrayal fused into one sound, and it tore through the valley like a physical force. Weapons surged upward all along the line, certainty slamming back into place with terrifying speed.
Accusation.
The Priestess knew she’d lost control and did whatever she could to get it back.
“She lied!” someone shouted in the orcs’ tongue.
“She strikes with light now!” another bellowed.
“She waited until we lowered our guard!”
Panic detonated in my chest.
“This wasn’t me!” I yelled, already moving, already running before I could stop myself. “Please, he needs help!”
I heard my mom’s screams as Stella held her back, and I broke into a sprint, boots slipping on frost as I raced toward the fallen orc, my hands already glowing with healing magic, my mind focused on one thing and one thing only.
Save him.
The orcs didn’t hear my words.
They saw me running toward their fallen leader, magic blazing in my hands, light still clinging to my hair and shoulders like an accusation.
To them, it looked like the finishing blow.
“No!” Keegan shouted again, his voice sharp with panic.
The shifters lunged forward, growls ripping from their chests as they tried to intercept me, but they were too far back, caught between protecting me and not provoking an all-out charge.
The vampires moved faster, coats flaring as they surged forward in a blur of motion, not attacking, not striking, but positioning themselves between me and the orc line.
Too late.
An orc roared and hurled a spear.
It didn’t hit me.
It struck the ground inches from my feet, ice and stone exploding upward in a spray that knocked me off balance. I went down hard, the impact jarring my teeth together as my palms slapped the frozen earth.
The Hollows screamed.
The hum beneath us surged into a violent roar, the ice walls shuddering as if struck by an unseen force. Cracks raced along their surfaces, glowing faintly with internal light, not breaking apart but threatening to.
“Stop!” Nova’s voice cut through the chaos, amplified by magic, raw and urgent. “That wasn’t her!”
My father ran to Nova’s side as Keegan had to stop him.
But the moment had already fractured.
More weapons came up. Orcs surged forward in a furious wave, their grief turning instantly into a need to eliminate the perceived threat before it could strike again.
I pushed myself up on shaking arms, scrambling toward the fallen leader despite the terror clawing at my throat.
“We can help him!” I cried. “Please!”
A massive shape loomed in front of me.
The older orc had moved with startling speed, planting himself between me and the fallen one, his weapon raised, his eyes blazing with fury and sorrow.
“Stay back,” he growled.
“I didn’t do this,” I said, the words tumbling over each other. “I swear to you…I would never—”
The ground beneath us pulsed, the Hollows’ power flaring in protest, mist surging upward around my legs as if trying to hold me in place.
And a cold satisfaction brushed the edge of my thoughts.
Not a voice.
Not words.
A presence.
She was laughing.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. The Priestess hadn’t just interfered.
She’d marked me.
She’d used me as the conduit, knowing exactly what it would look like, knowing the damage it would do to the fragile trust I’d built.
She hadn’t attacked the orcs.
She’d attacked the moment.
I gasped, my birthmark flaring white-hot as the connection snapped into painful clarity.
“She did this,” I said hoarsely, trying to explain. “She used me. She’s trying to turn you against us.”
The older orc’s grip tightened on his weapon. His gaze flicked, just for a fraction of a second, to the faint glow still lingering in the air above me.
“Then you are dangerous,” he said. “Whether you mean to be or not.”
Keegan finally reached me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders as he dragged me backward just as another spear flew. It struck the ice at our feet and shattered, shards skidding across the ground.
“She’s baiting them,” Keegan snarled, his voice tight with fury as he pulled me behind him. “She’s forcing their hand.”
“I know,” I said, tears burning my eyes as I watched the orcs close ranks, their attention fully back on us now. “I know, and I can’t stop her.”
The vampires tightened their formation, faces grim. The shifters braced, muscles coiling as they prepared for impact, knowing restraint might no longer be an option.
The Hollows roared again, the ice walls surging higher, closing in, trapping all of us in a narrowing corridor of frost and fury.
Above us, the shadows twisted, no longer hesitant, no longer subtle.
The Priestess had lost control of the narrative.
So she’d chosen cruelty instead.
And as the orcs raised their weapons with renewed certainty, grief sharpening into vengeance, I realized with sickening clarity that whatever came next would define more than this battle.
It would define who I was allowed to be.
Whether I could still stand between worlds or whether the Priestess had finally succeeded in proving that I was too dangerous to trust.
The older orc let out a final, guttural command.
The orcs surged forward.
And the Hollows screamed their warning too late.
The charge hit like a breaking wave.
Orcs surged forward in a roar of grief and fury, feet pounding the frozen ground hard enough to rattle my bones.
The sound was an overwhelming mix of ice, voices colliding, and the deep bellow of a mondo boar, forced into motion by panic.
The Hollows answered with a violent tremor, ice walls cracking and reforming as if the land itself couldn’t decide whether to contain the chaos or be torn apart by it.
“Hold the line!” Caleb shouted, his voice carrying over the din as the shifters shifted—not fully, not into beasts, but into something between, shoulders broadening, teeth sharpening, eyes glowing with feral light.
They braced themselves in front of us, not charging, not retreating, but meeting the oncoming force with planted feet and raised arms.
The first impact was brutal.
An orc slammed into a shifter, the collision knocking both sideways as frost exploded beneath them.
Another orc swung a massive club that cracked against a raised barrier of vampire magic, the impact sending a ripple through the elegant formation behind us.
Stella darted forward in a blur, deflecting a blade with one hand while snarling something sharp and unrepeatable in a language that sounded older than teeth.
“Maeve, stay back!” Keegan barked, his hands firm on my shoulders as he pulled me behind him.
“I can help them!” I shouted back, my gaze locked on the fallen orc leader still lying motionless on the ground. “If I can just—”
A shadow creature screamed overhead, diving low and fast. Keegan spun, dragging me down with him as dark wings clipped the air where my head had been a second earlier.
The creature slammed into the ice wall behind us, its form splattering and reforming, leaving streaks of black residue that hissed against the frozen surface.
Nova stood her ground, staff blazing now, not with dominance but precision.
She carved sigils into the air that snapped into place like locking gears, barriers flaring just long enough to deflect blows without turning into weapons.
Every movement she made was deliberate, economical, as if she were solving an equation under fire.
“This is exactly what she wanted,” Nova called out, her voice tight. “She’s feeding on the confusion!”
The orcs didn’t hear her.
They saw blood—orc blood now, spilled when one of their own collided with a shifter’s reinforced shoulder and went down hard. They heard the roar of battle echoing off ice and stone. They felt the betrayal burn fresh and immediate.
And they answered it.
An axe cleaved downward, missing a vampire by inches and embedding itself in the ice.
Lady Limora stepped forward, finally letting a fraction of her power show.
The air around her darkened, not in shadow, but in gravity, a crushing presence that forced several orcs to stumble as if walking through deep water.
“Enough,” she said calmly.
No one listened.
The Hollows groaned again, louder this time, and one of the ice walls finally gave way. It wasn’t collapsing, but sliding.
The massive slab shifted sideways and slammed into the valley floor with a thunderous crack. The impact sent shards flying, forcing both sides to scatter.
I lost sight of Keegan.
Panic flared hot and sharp in my chest.
“Keegan!” I screamed, twisting free and scrambling forward despite every instinct screaming at me to stop.
Another blast of light flared nearby.
It wasn’t from me, not from Nova. It came from above, angled wrong, wild, and cruel. It struck the ground near the shifter line, throwing bodies aside in a burst of white force.
“She’s still doing it!” I yelled. “She’s still using me, using my magic as cover!”
As if to mock me, my birthmark flared again, blazing so fiercely it stole my breath. Pain lanced through my hip and up my spine, dropping me to one knee.
“Maeve!” Keegan’s voice cut through the chaos as he barreled toward me, blood streaking one side of his temple. He skidded to a stop in front of me, planting himself like a wall.
“I’m fine,” I gasped, even as the world tilted. “She’s forcing my signature into it. I can feel it.”
His jaw clenched. “We need to end this fast before…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
An orc lunged, faster than I thought possible, his weapon arcing toward Keegan’s unprotected side. Keegan twisted at the last second, taking the blow across his shoulder instead of his chest, the impact sending him staggering.
Something inside me snapped.
It wasn’t power but resolve. I would not let the Priestess win.
I surged to my feet and shoved my hands into the frozen ground, Hedge Magic flooding outward, grasping peace and calm from the Maple Ward.
It wasn’t explosive or sharp, but deep and anchoring. Roots burst up through the ice, glowing faintly as they wrapped around legs and weapons alike, slowing the charge without breaking bones, without drawing blood.
“STOP!” I screamed, my voice tearing raw from my throat.
For a heartbeat, the battlefield faltered.
Roots glimmered beneath boots. Frosted vines crept up clubs and axes, holding without strangling. The Hollows responded instantly, the hum beneath us deepening, the ice walls stabilizing as if relieved by the pause.
The older orc stood frozen at the front, chest heaving, his gaze locked on me again—this time not with certainty, but with something fractured and desperate.
“Look at the shadows!” I shouted, pointing upward. “They’re not striking when we stop! They want motion, fear, and confusion!”
As if enraged by being noticed, the shadows shrieked and descended again in a furious swarm, no longer careful, no longer precise. They dove indiscriminately now, striking orcs and vampires alike, splashing across shifter fur and ice and stone.
The Priestess had lost her restraint entirely.
“The Priestess panicking,” Stella snarled, ripping a shadow creature apart with a snap of her fingers. “That’s new.”
“But dangerous,” Nova shouted back.
The sky darkened further, light thinning until everything took on a bruised, twilight hue. The Hollows shook violently, the ice walls cracking again as if pushed beyond their limit.
And then something changed.
The ground split open near the fallen orc leader.
A fissure of pale blue light tore through the ice, spreading outward like a lightning bolt frozen in place. From it rose a low, resonant sound—ancient, unmistakable.
A horn.
The orcs froze.
Every single one of them turned toward the sound, weapons lowering as recognition rippled through the ranks. Fear shifted, not toward us, not toward the shadows, but toward the fissure itself and the sound of the horn.
Caleb’s face drained of color. “That’s not ours,” he breathed.
Nova stared at the glowing crack in the earth, her expression unreadable. “That’s not the Priestess either.”
The horn sounded again, louder this time, echoing through the Hollows and into my bones.
And as something vast began to move beneath the ice, I realized with a sickening drop in my stomach that the battle we were fighting, orc against witch, shadow against light, had never been the real danger at all.
Whatever was waking beneath the Hollows didn’t care who started the fight.
It only cared that enough power had gathered to feed it.