Chapter 43 #2
Morcarion, the Shadow King Sovereign, walked like a moving eclipse, his outline constantly shifting, his body half-smoke, almost half-man, but too far gone to be the soul of a man.
Even looking at him made her stomach twist, as if her mind couldn’t hold his shape.
He had shadows all around him, and his shape was constantly changing.
Vaelgor, the Illusionist, followed next, his beauty cruel and precise.
His white hair shimmered with spectral light, and his eyes gleamed silver as quicksilver.
Every time he blinked, his face changed.
Her mind was not her own. She saw and felt her mother’s smile, then she saw Thorne, his blue eyes and handsome features.
Next were her best friends and squad members, and then Commander Dareth’s eyes and that protectiveness that he places around Thorne and extends to her, too. She wanted to scream.
Next came Kors, the Bone Warden, his massive frame wrapped in cracked armor made from the ribs of ancient beasts. His hands were black with decay, each finger tipped with a claw that dripped corrosive ichor, the poisonous blood of the dead.
The four of them stopped before her. The light from the Rift cast them in warped halos. “Welcome, child of Aeromir,” Maelor said, his tone almost kind. “We have waited a long time for your blood to resurface.”
Thaelyn glared at him, voice raw. “You’ll wait longer before I give you anything.”
Vaelgor smiled, and his face shimmered into Thorne’s, perfect down to the faint scar near his mouth. “Oh Thae, my wicked and beautiful little terror,” he said in Thorne’s voice, low and coaxing. “You already have, I know where your heart lies.”
“Get out of my head.”
“For now,” Vaelgor purred, and with a flick of his hand, the illusions dissolved, replaced by black flame. The pain was immediate. The world twisted as the runes on her shackles flared red-hot. Magic tore through her veins like fire and glass. Thaelyn screamed.
Kors chuckled, a deep, broken sound. “She burns well. All that power, fighting to stay inside her.”
“Hault for now,” Maelor said, though there was no mercy in his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his staff until its tip hovered before her heart. “The Aether must be drawn willingly, or it devours what it touches. You cannot hold it forever, girl. Give it to us, and you will live.”
Thaelyn lifted her head, trembling but defiant. “I’d rather die.”
Morcarion’s laughter was a whisper that crawled across her skin. “You think death frees you? How quaint.”
The Shadow Sovereign drifted forward, his body unraveling into ribbons of smoke that wrapped around her throat. The world dimmed as his power pressed into her mind, forcing her memories open.
She saw Thorne’s face, the training field, the night they kissed for the first time, their epic lovemaking, the bond that had burned bright and terrifying. She tried to push him out, but the shadow pried deeper.
“Ah,” Morcarion murmured, his voice a poison in her ear. “So the Flame Prince has marked you. A fitting symmetry. His dragon still roams the skies above, crying for you.”
Thaelyn’s pulse spiked. She fought to keep her breathing steady.
Morcarion watched her, eyes narrowing. “You want to feel him, even now. The bond calls across the Veil. What happens, I wonder, if we drop the wards to get him to come to you? That is too perfect?”
Her head jerked up. “No.”
“Oh yes.” Maelor’s lips curved. “Your dragons will come for you. The boy can’t help himself. They will tear through the Rift’s edge to reach you.”
Kors’s laugh rumbled like an avalanche. “And when they do, we claim them all. Their magic. Their flesh. Their bond.”
Vaelgor tilted his head, a serene smile. “Imagine it, Aether and shadow united under us. Dragons bound in chains of decay. Even the heavens would kneel.”
Thaelyn’s heart pounded. She tried to summon her power, but the chains and Maelor’s anti-magic siphoning drank it, swallowing the light before it could rise. She struggled anyway, fury and fear clawing inside her chest.
“You won’t touch them,” she rasped. “You’ll die before you do.”
Morcarion’s smoke constricted, forcing her head back. “You’ll give us what we want, willingly or not.”
Maelor raised his staff high. The rift pulsed in answer, and the chamber trembled. “Prepare the circle,” he commanded. “Drop the wards when I say.”
The others moved into position. Vaelgor drew runes into the air that glowed red-black. Kors began muttering a death-chant, and the air grew heavy, the scent of old graves filling the room.
Thaelyn’s heart crashed against her ribs. She felt it then, the faintest flicker of something through the void. A thread of light. Nyxariel. Still searching and still reaching for her. She became unconscious again.
Lyssara’s voice slithered through Thaelyn’s mind. "You're awake again. I wondered how long you'd keep fighting the trance and the poison we gave you. You’ve endured more than expected," she went on. "Even now, you're trying to shield your thoughts. Clever little heir."
Thaelyn turned her head slowly. "You will not get away with this," she rasped, her voice raw from thirst.
Lyssara smiled behind the stitched veil. “We already have. Your greatest loves are on their way. Now give over your powers, or I will continue to break you slowly, and then when they arrive.”
“I will not break. You will be the one that I break,” she said. “You just haven’t felt it yet.”
Her expression twitched, just once. Then she stepped back, gesturing with two fingers to the door.
Another figure entered, cloaked entirely in deep crimson robes.
This one did not speak. She, or he, set down a bowl of metallic fluid beside the warded circle, and the scent of iron hit Thaelyn like a wave. They were preparing another ritual.
“No. Not again.”
The last time they’d tried this, they’d forced her to drink from the bowl. It had seared her tongue and stolen the memory of her mother’s face for days, but she couldn’t be sure because time was lost in this place. She wouldn’t drink it again.
“You cannot escape, child,” the robed being said. “The wards here were woven before your bloodline even held breath. This place was a sanctum for the Sealed. Aether does not rule here. The longer you resist, the more the bond, along with your dragon, frays.”
Thaelyn’s fingers clenched despite the chains. Her voice was soft, shaking, but furious. “You don’t know what you're doing. She will find me.”
“Oh?” The dark being cocked its head. “You mean Nyxariel?”
The being said her name like a curse, like something filthy.
“She’s a relic. An echo. As are you.” It forced her head back and poured more liquid down her throat.
Thaelyn hissed. Her skin burned, and she began to convulse. The green-blue flames flared in response. One of the warded lines sparked, then went dead for a single breath. Just a breath. The being froze. So did Thaelyn; she was unable to move.
The being turned to the other robed figure. “Reinforce the binding. Now! She’s stronger than we knew, good.”
Thaelyn had already committed the flare to memory. Aether was trying to reach her. Somewhere out there, the bond had pulled too close; someone had gotten near enough to strain the veil. Close enough to shake the spell’s edge. She let her eyes close. Her heart stopped beating.
The sky cracked open in fury. Far above the veil of the outer realm, two shadows cleaved through the cloudbanks, one trailing firelight in its wake, and the other wrapped in storm.
Nyxariel flew like a star loose from its constellation.
Her wings were slicing vapor into ribbons.
Aether bled from her body in radiant pulses, and stormlight flickered beneath every scale like veins of lightning running molten through armor.
Beside her, darker, heavier, and no less furious, flew Vornokh.
His wings beat with a sound like a war drum.
His body was flanked in shadows, and his eyes blazed twin golden embers of ruin.
It was the way he moved that announced death, a quiet inevitability.
He was like a predator of legends returning to the hunt.
They did not speak, not aloud. Only dragon to dragon.
Their thoughts intertwined like roots in ash.
“You feel her, too?” Nyxariel’s voice was wind-laced with sorrow.
“Now. Faint. But there.” Vornokh’s voice was stone-cracking under pressure. “She called. And we heard.”
“The bond is starting to end,” Nyxariel turned her head, eyes blazing. “We must hurry.” Lightning forked behind her. Thunder galloped across the sky like a thousand hooves. The storm she carried was not natural; it was vengeance that had been given wings.
Below them, the blackened hills of the outer reach gave way to cliffs of white stone. An ancient fortress etched into the mountainside came into view. It was hidden from maps and cloaked in enchantments, but not from the dragons.
Vornokh growled, “I see it.”
“We will burn it to the ground.”
Wards flickered below. They were faint and appeared to be weakening. The dragons did not wait for the other dragons carrying the humans. Vornokh and Nyxariel were already diving down toward the abandoned fortress.
The night air reeked of damp stone and old magic.
Thorne was part of the ground rescue crew.
He crouched beneath the crumbling archway of a forgotten aqueduct, shadows curling at his shoulders like sentient smoke.
Beside him, Sorren and Darian slipped into the shadows without a sound.
Not far behind, Garric and Brynnek waited.
Their dragons circling high above, behind the cover of clouds, waiting for the signal to be given to strike with dragonfire.
The ancient fortress loomed before them, a jagged crown of pale stone fused into the cliff face.
It looked dead and abandoned. But every warrior in the squad knew otherwise.
“Two sentries above. Ward glyphs along the perimeter. Old sigil work, but still active,” Sorren whispered, barely audible. “They won’t last long.”
Thorne’s voice was steel wrapped in ice. “We get in. We find her. No mercy. Our only priority is extracting her safely.”
Darian shifted beside him, lips pulled tight. “Are you sure you're steady enough for this? You have to have a clear head and not be wrapped in emotion.”
Thorne didn’t look at him. “I won’t be steady until she’s back. Until I know she’s breathing and safe.”
The others arrived on foot. Garric adjusted the vambrace on his wrist, eyes glowing faintly with suppressed magic. “I’ve got the Aether trail. Whatever they used to mask her, it’s thinner now. Like rot in silk. We can follow it inside.”
Brynnek gave a silent nod and unslung his war axe. “We’re burning time. Let’s move.”
They slipped through the lower gate. Sorren neutralized the wards with eerie precision.
The group moved like smoke through stone halls.
Thorne’s shadow magic helped with bypassing the guards in silence.
They would use violence where necessary, but their main focus and where they planned to use their resources and energy was saved for Thaelyn’s rescue.
Vornokh and Nyxariel roared above. Their presence was to create a distraction and draw attention to the outside, forcing most of the enemy outward.
“The distraction the dragons are making is working,” Darian muttered. “I hope they don’t tear the place down before we get her out.”
The rescue crew turned into a corridor and stopped.
A heavy iron door barred their path. It appeared to be etched with runes older than any recent dialect.
Garric stepped forward, fingers outstretched.
“It appears to be warded to her, to Thaelyn. That’s how they sealed her in.
Give me a moment and see if I can unbind the warding or find an incantation that will work to release the door.
” While Garric worked with the Aether magic given to him through his dragon, Thorne stood stone-still.
Every part of him was vibrating with energy.
He had not heard or felt her through their bond.
Not a word. Thorne lunged forward in agony.
He felt the moment that her heartbeat had stopped.