Chapter Seventy-Two
ELYSSARA
Hope is the name we give to survival when we’re too proud to admit we’re afraid.
A chorus of moving armor descends on Kryntar Castle, echoing through the alcoves, and ricocheting off walls like the fates are repeating a warning.
But I’ve never been one to heed them.
I’m reckless when it comes to justice.
The Caelorians march toward us from the west like a tidal wave rushing toward the shore.
I prowl forward, chin lifted in defiance as if I am the one who can change the tide.
But that’s when I hear them—
The groans of pained men rumble through my head. Armor scrapes across stone, weapons clatter to the ground, and boots stumble to their feet.
“What is that?” Seren murmurs, crossbow raised, eyes trained on the soldiers marching through Kryntar’s gates across the causeway.
“The Marked soldiers,” Teddy says, shaking his head. “They’re not Marked, anymore. They’re confused.”
A man stumbles around the castle, a shaky arm holding a sword.
“Wh— What happened?” the man stammers, eyes sad and despondent.
As if he has no recollection of anything that’s happened.
But we don’t have time.
“Caeloria marches on us,” Kael commands. “Ready yourself, soldier. Fight for your king!”
The man scrambles to attention, confused but responsive to the instruction.
Curses and disorientation rend the night air, once-Marked soldiers staggering to their feet and rounding the corner, following the noise.
The veins of obsidian that usually bloom from their necks have faded to a shrinking gray, but they look at us warily.
Not quite enemies, not quite allies—dazed and terrified.
“Fight for your king!” Kael commands again, and something in them snaps to attention.
I don’t know how helpful they’ll be, but those who beg aren’t in the position to choose.
The Caelorians are halfway down the causeway, steel glinting under moonlight, blue aether threaded through their armor.
Lightborne magic claws at its cage in my chest, recognizing threat, desperate and hungry for blood.
I unlatch the cage, allowing it to slither through my veins, snaking to my finger tips, and illuminating my skin.
My skin markings flare brighter—like a weapon recognizing war.
I close my eyes, forcing my breath to slow, my senses to sharpen, my mind to still.
Kael’s words find me through the tether. From now until the Stars claim me, my love.
In this life and the next. I reply, and the tether thrums in resonance.
But beneath the tether, I hear another hum—a song older than the gods.
A song of Stars.
That’s when I move—
“Duskae, grant me your power!”
Fire blazes to life from my hands, shooting out in front of me in an arc that forces the Caelorians to scatter.
I build a wall of fire across the causeway, blocking their pathway to us.
Duskae’s magic stays strong and insistent in my veins with the effort to keep up the wall of fire, and I relish the power.
It won’t last forever, but it will give us time to defend the other directions.
“Fire? Really?” Ronyn asks, incredulous.
I smirk. “I play by the same rules Duskae did: none,” I vow, and then I spin to the north. My hands shoot into the sky, Lightborne magic exploding, causing a storm of Starlight.
My magic illuminates the night—revealing the thousands of soldiers that storm the castle grounds.
And I know, without doubt, they will die by my hand.
Altruism has no place in the midst of battle.
And I stopped asking what’s right the moment I learned what must be done to remake the realms.
“Ahhh, a plan? Do we have a plan?” Ronyn asks skeptically, arrow nocked in his bow, eyes strategically measuring distance and angles.
“Do not Meld, Ronyn. You hear me?” Kael snaps, voice cutting.
“This actually feels like the perfect time for a large fucking dragon to call the shots, wouldn’t you agree?” Ronyn snaps back, incredulous.
But Kael’s already shaking his head. “Seren and you are the only things Thalmyr can’t possibly know about. We do not reveal our hand unless we must,” Kael growls.
And for a heartbeat, despite not having one to spare, I relish him planning for the future. For believing in the six of us enough to think beyond this battle.
“Stars fuckin’ save us, I guess. Not having a plan is kind of our thing,” Ronyn huffs, training his eye on the soldier leading the charge. “I am the first god metal archer in Aevryn, you know?”
His face is all cheek and audacity—exactly the kind of bravado one needs before battle.
And you are the one they never saw coming. Kael’s voice rumbles down the tether in a low timbre. Daughter of the Unknown. The Last Light.
His eyes are on mine, savage and lethal.
Endbringer. I reply.
His eyes glint in satisfaction at my words.
And I already know what he’s planning.
I nod, and together, we say, “Kill them all.”
Then, we charge to the north.