Chapter 32 Starlight
Starlight
She felt him then.
Felt his power.
His fury.
His fear.
His very essence as it rolled through the air, shadows searching for her. And she knew—more than she’d ever known anything in her entire life—that he’d find her, and these humans would be shown no mercy.
From under glowered brows, she watched the busy men chattering about their plans to take her back to King Hendrix, to her hell. Unaware of who had just entered their camp, too distracted by their so-called triumph.
She needed to get to him. To the man who had lied to her. No—she wouldn’t think about that now. She searched deep within herself for even the faintest spark of warmth. Of the light that was her power, but nothing came. She only needed a flicker. Just enough to get these ropes off.
But there was nothing.
She had nothing left.
Trembling, she weakly cried out, “Damien . . .”
Cold, cruel laughter answered her. The men at the table revelled in her failure, mocking her hope, her desperation, but they didn’t laugh long.
Darkness clouded the white tent. Its fabric blackened, as if ink had been poured over it, swallowing every trace of light until only a shadow remained—a swirl of smoky mist—and then it simply floated away.
In its place stood a black unicorn. Darkness flowed from him, wrapping around his form like living armour, ready to strike. Snakelike shadows coiled at his hooves, waiting on his command. His once green eyes were now black, locked onto hers.
She tried to smile. For a fleeting heartbeat, she thought she saw something—relief, perhaps—soften his hard stare, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold resolve.
“Dead. All of you.” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, and all the more terrifying for it.
Any remaining laughter died. The world stilling as he vowed, “By the skies above, may the stars themselves forsake me if even one of you draws another breath.”
A deafening roar followed as Damien unleashed his magic. A storm of shadows burst from him—black tendrils wisping through the air in a haunting wave, crackling like lightning as they tore hungrily towards their prey.
The humans panicked; some let out battle cries, others screamed in fear. Men scrambled for weapons, but most turned and fled. A cluster of guards rushed to form a barrier around Luna, their eyes wide with terror as they sought to protect their prize.
Damien reared, his hooves crashing down with earth-shattering force, sending tremors rippling through the ground. The men faltered, knees buckling under the sheer force threatening to tear them off their feet.
His wrath was merciless. Everything the shadows touched crumbled into dust, into dark, into nothing. Screams that had filled the air were abruptly silenced.
Behind him, a dapple-grey unicorn emerged; his coat mottled like storm clouds, his mane and tail ghost-pale against the darkness. Moving without sound, he glided above the earth, his hooves barely brushing the ground.
The unicorn—Gregory, Luna assumed—lowered his head, angling his horn towards the soldiers and charged. Swords clanged uselessly against his hide, bending on impact. Shields splintered like brittle wood under the force of his assault.
His horn pierced through the men, and with a violent wrench, he flung their bodies aside like broken dolls.
Luna stared, stunned. For a moment, she worried ghost and shadow alike might vanish—like a mirage born of fear and exhaustion.
But they didn’t. Together, they fought with the precision of seasoned warriors, their movements fluid, seamless. Unicorns might resemble horses, at least at first glance, but the magic in their veins made them practically undefeatable.
Yet the battle was far from over.
More men surged from the tents, pouring forward hundreds strong.
“Steady men! Take aim—fire!” someone shouted over the chaos.
A cloud of white powder exploded through the air, billowing across the camp. Damien lunged right, narrowly evading the blast—but Gregory wasn’t so quick.
Flecks of powder struck his back. He bellowed, staggering forward, his great head thrashing, horn slicing the air.
Another shot fired; this time, it struck true.
Unicornbane dust slammed into Gregory’s flank, driving him to his knees. Damien was there in an instant, his body shielding Gregory as his shadow magic ripped across the field and pulverized the men one by one.
But for every man who fell, three more took his place. And with them, more powder.
They charged again.
Damien met them head-on, unicornbane dust clinging to his coat. He powered through it, slashing men down with his horn while his shadows moved like a river of death, sweeping through the ranks, tearing men apart.
White powder choked the air, coating him as if it were ash. His black hide turned pale, almost white.
Still, he fought—stabbing, ramming, crushing—until his steps grew heavier, his movements sluggish. For the first time, he faltered. His shadows flickered, thinning for a breath, as if the magic itself was straining to hold on.
His gaze snapped to Luna’s. And for a split second, there was fear.
“Luna! Look out!” he shouted.
Hands clamped around her throat. She gasped, choking, thrashing against the pole.
From behind, William’s voice brushed her ear, low and mocking. “All this trouble for the likes of you. Pathetic.”
His grip tightened. Her breaths shortened into hollow, frightened gasps. With her hands still bound behind her, her body flailed uselessly, jerking as her lungs shrieked for air.
But her mind . . . her mind was already gone.
Tyrina had taken too much.
There was nothing left.
Damien roared, the sound of pure, feral rage. Shadows surged towards her, but the unicornbane dust stopped them, smothering the magic midair.
He ripped through the humans, their bodies vanishing into nothingness as he fought to reach her . . . but there were too many men. Too much powder.
He’s not going to reach me. The thought landed with a cold, numbing clarity.
This was the end.
“Get your fucking hands off of her!” Damien bellowed, just as another blast of unicornbane dust hit him dead-on, drenching his chest, shoulder, and legs.
He stumbled, swords flashing all around him.
His shadows stuttered, flickering like a dying flame.
Desperate, he threw his head, knocking several men back with his horn.
“Look at me, Luna!” he cried, his voice cracking, “You’re stronger than this. ”
Didn’t he see?
She had nothing left.
She was just a body now. Empty.
Somewhere, William chuckled, low and triumphant.
“Don’t give up!” Damien’s voice tore through the chaos—a command, a plea. He made it sound like she had a choice, as if she could have ever chosen this.
Dots crept into her vision; she needed air.
“Fight him!” Damien roared, slashing his horn and cutting another man in two. “Use your fucking magic!”
Damien fought like a demon unleashed, but he was still so far away.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even move.
Run, her body screamed.
But she was bound.
Trapped.
Dying.
Her mind splintered.
And somewhere, deep beneath the terror and cold—something answered.
Not a thought. Not a memory.
But a spark. Small and wild, refusing to die. She seized it without knowing how—without choosing.
The spark ignited.
Fire tore through her veins, violent and hungry, devouring everything: the fear, the pain, the silence. It burned away all the broken pieces inside of her until they became strength. Fuel.
She didn’t try to control it; she wasn’t sure she even could.
Her magic ripped itself free, bursting from her skin, erupting in a wave of raw, furious light.
Her body seized, arching against the pole as magic burned so bright it blinded her.
Somewhere close, William screamed, and his hand released her throat.
She gasped and beautiful, burning air filled her lungs with life.
Her magic kept consuming, like a roaring inferno setting her body alight. There was no controlling it. She had set her magic loose, and now it couldn’t be stopped.
Flames danced over every inch of her skin. At first, she was one with them and they didn’t harm her. But, as the flames grew brighter and hotter—so did she.
Pain prickled along her body, blooming sharper by the second. Light radiated from her, blinding, unbearable, as if she had torn open the fabric of creation itself and its brilliance was too intense to be contained. She feared it’d tear her apart.
Across the battlefield, the men fighting Damien and Gregory froze, their weapons hanging useless at their sides as they stared, caught between awe and terror.
Damien’s voice cut through the stillness. “Stay down, Greg.”
His shadows moved fast, forming a shield around them, cloaking them in darkness.
Then Luna exploded.
Her power blasted outwards, erupting like a fireball, tearing the skies apart. White-hot starlight flooded the field in a blinding wave, disintegrating everything in its path: men, weapons—even the air itself.
There was nothing left of the camp. Her magic had obliterated all, burning through the earth itself, scalding it to the bone. For miles, the devastation stretched . . . the ground charred and lifeless; not even a single blade of grass had survived.
But she wasn’t done. She had willed her magic to burn, to scare William, but now there was no stopping it.
Magic spilled from her every pore, until she was a living star—bright, blinding, and unbearably hot.
She willed herself to cool, to calm, but it was no use.
The heat grew. And with it, her terror. She desperately tried to grasp the scalding power flowing within her, but it slipped through her fingers, exploding outward, shining brighter than the sun.
Across the field of black dirt, Damien’s worried gaze locked onto hers. He tipped his head, his horn gleaming with shadows. A vortex formed at its tip, tendrils swirling of the darkest black.