Chapter Seventy-Three
KAEL
We surge like a blade through ribs—one breath, one motion—flinging light and shadow into the teeth of the enemy.
The fractured overlap of armor screeching, steel clanging, boots pounding greets me like a lullaby.
The sound of war.
I let the melody descend over me, every muscle, every instinct responding to it like death is the conductor.
The distorted roar of a Caelorian soldier pierces through my focus.
His twisted face charges me, blade raised in manic fury.
I duck beneath his strike with Death’s borrowed precision. Shadows rip from my palms in black ribbons, knotting around his throat. His scream chokes to a thud against the stone; another note, folded into the symphony.
I move like I’m feeding on Death itself. A callous rot coiling through my veins.
I relish every tear in muscle, every crack of busted joints.
Shadows and Death magic slash and choke like they have a mind of their own.
A second Caelorian barrels toward me, sword wreathed in blue aether.
He swings wide—too wide.
I catch his wrist mid-arc and twist until bone gives way with a wet crack. His blade falls; I drive it back through his chest, shadows following it like loyal hounds. The light in his eyes flickers out before the weapon hits the ground.
Another lunges from behind. I pivot, low and fast. My elbow crushes his visor; my shadow snakes through the gap and detonates inside his helm. He collapses, helmet smoking, nothing left of his face but dust and regret.
A third comes screaming prayers to forgotten gods. I answer with my own—steel and inevitability. My sword cleaves him clean, the cut so fast it takes a heartbeat for the blood to remember what it’s meant to do.
I barely pause. The battlefield obeys: a breath, a strike, a death.
Ronyn fires from my flank, arrows streaking silver where my shadows don’t reach.
Seren’s bolts find their mark as she dips and weaves through the center of our unit.
Teddy wades through the carnage like a tidebreaker, axe rising and falling in brutal percussion. Always at my flank. Always guarding my back.
Jax harnesses my magic, spinning shadows into spears of onyx that cleave through armor.
But it’s my Starbound who steals the breath from my lungs.
Arresting in her power.
Elyssara moves behind us, her Lightborne magic sweeping in arcs that obliterate lines of soldiers at a time, every motion half-grace, half-cataclysm.
We move as one unit—undeniable, indomitable.
A single, terrible choreography written by war and the Stars that demanded it.
The castle grounds tremble beneath our rhythm.
And still, the tide keeps coming.
The wall of fire still holds the bridge—the soldiers from the west held behind it.
“More from the south!” Teddy yells, his Aetherstride abilities hearing something I don’t.
Fuck.
“Duskae!” she shouts, voice cracking through the din. “More!”
I feel her through the tether—heat, fury, devotion.
Fire dances with Starlight at her hands, before it erupts in a blaze of fury.
She doesn’t stop.
Not until lines of soldiers fall to their knees, consumed by the wrath of a woman born to remake realms.
“Holy fucking Stars, El,” Seren breathes from behind her, as hundreds, if not a thousand, men blaze to their deaths.
“Tarrakai is getting a bit antsy,” Ronyn grunts as the taut snap of bowstring releases with unerring accuracy. “He… is hungry.”
“Not yet!” I growl.
But for every soldier we cull, two more appear in their place.
“Can you do that again, El?” I pant between ragged breaths.
“Duskae! Again!”
But before Duskae can respond—
“Take cover!”
Teddy’s voice booms across the grounds.
But it’s too late.
A mist like the spray off the Riverian Jungle waterfalls drifts across my skin. Tiny droplets cling to my arms.
“Fuck!” Teddy growls. “It’s not water! It’s alchemy!”
That’s when it begins to burn.
Jax forms a Nullveil within heartbeats, trapping us in the safety of her impenetrable Luminaar dome.
I drop to my knees, clutching my chest like clawing at it will save me.
I cast my eyes to the south through the transparent dome.
And I realize that all of this is a farce.
We haven’t been facing the full might of the Caelorian army—because a unit of their Starborn soldiers stares back at me.
One with eyes I’ve etched into my mind with the promise of death.
Rhyven.
That fucking traitor.
He leads the Starborn unit towards the Nullveil, snarl carved into his face.
They part for him—the traitor who sold us out to Maldrak. The one who gave up my Starbound.
Rhyven’s smirk gleams like oil under torchlight, his eyes hungry with the kind of satisfaction only betrayal can buy.
“Stars damn him,” Ronyn spits.
“I’ll kill him myself,” Seren murmurs, smearing the sweat on her brow under her leather strap.
“Get in line,” I growl, my vision narrowing on the mark between his brows.
A thousand Starborn. Surrounding us.
But I’ve got eyes on only one.
My muscles lock up, stiff and immovable.
Because whatever just hit our skin is the work of a fucking Venomshade.