Chapter Seventy-Five
ELYSSARA
I pray to the gods that have never answered me.
I beseech the Stars that have watched idly as the realms fracture.
But I beg them anyway.
I beg them to intervene. To offer us a raft as we face the building tidal wave of Starborn soldiers and their insidious alchemy.
And Rhyven. His sickening smile still the fodder of my nightmares as he gave me up like a pig for the spit to Maldrak.
My magic is gone.
Duskae is a distant echo I can’t quite reach.
And we’re trapped in a Nullveil—a thin, disintegrating barrier that stands between us and certain death.
A distant, rhythmic pounding drums against the earth.
But it’s nothing more than background noise to the riot of thoughts that crash against the walls of my mind.
Kael drags himself to his knees, shaky and stumbling. The paralysis beginning to dissolve in his veins.
Darling, I need you to breathe. His voice through the tether is all calm and calculation. No hint of the panic that roots in my marrow.
“Look at me,” he commands with fierce, unflinching conviction.
Through the frantic breaths that rip from my chest, I lift my eyes to his.
“Magic never made you a warrior, Elyssara. Fury did,” he says, the words like a benediction. Then he stands on unsteady legs, strength gathering, and his voice changes into something lethal, unholy.
He casts his eyes around the Nullveil at our friends, and begins to stalk the perimeter like a beast hunting its prey. “This dome will fall. There is no denying it. Your panic has no place here. Your fear is not welcome. Bring your fury. Bring your fucking wrath.”
His chest rises and falls, possessed, his teeth bared.
“They think they can take our land. Our history. Our future. It is not theirs to take! This is Zerynthia. This is our kingdom! They are in our fucking home! Rip their throats from their necks with your bare hands. Send them to the Final Gate!” He growls the word like he’s a myth made flesh.
The Endbringer.
Teddy’s face twists into a feral smile as he drags his boots across the gritty stone to stand.
“They’re here,” he breathes.
They’re here?
And then I feel it for what it really is.
The rhythmic vibration of the earth pulsing under my boots.
At first, I think it’s the cannons.
But the vibration runs through my bones and I know, the same way I know my name: not an enemy beat, but a returning one.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of staves striking the earth—slow at first, then building, rising, roaring like a heartbeat made of war drums.
I hear it through my frantic breaths, and it rips the panic from my chest like a hand.
Their skin is deep bronze, and on their flesh, peeking out from their furs and brown leathers, they are marked with inked symbols that coil like constellations across their hands, chests, and throats. Their hair is jet-black, woven into thick braids interlaced with strips of dark iron.
And their masks—carved from pale bone, smoothed by time, each one marked with the same sigil: a crescent moon pierced by three Stars.
My gaze casts long to the west, past the lines of soldiers that hunger for our blood and the fire that barely holds them back, to the treeline.
They start as dark shapes coalescing at the horizon, torches illuminating the night.
But as their staves strike the ground, and they converge on Kryntar Castle, I see them for what they are.
“The Vaythari,” I breathe. “They came.”
In time with their staves striking the ground, they rumble a chant that calls to me. “Zhari! Zhari! Zhari!” And my Lightborne mark flares in resonance.
“Syphra,” her name slips from my lips as I see her leading her people towards us, shoulders pulled back like a warrior who knows battle.
The Velmara flank her, maws dripping, teeth bared.
“They came for you,” Kael murmurs.
The Nullveil continues disintegrating, painfully slow, as if the Stars themselves are giving us time.
“There’s more,” Teddy announces. “From the east.”
“Not having a plan genuinely works for us,” Ronyn quips, back on his feet, but never without an arrow nocked.
“They heard me,” Seren murmurs, hands pressing against the dome in awe.
I race to the east side of the dome. “Who heard you?”
Seren sucks in a sharp breath. “Syphra. Tvira.”
They heard her?
But I’m too shocked to figure out what she means.
“The Cindrali people came,” I whisper to no one in particular, disbelieving, as rows of their warriors descend on Kryntar Castle.
The Stars answered my call.
The Nullveil recedes further, and I can’t take the wait anymore.
I want blood. Now.
I spin back to Jax, eyes gleaming.
“Take down the Nullveil,” I command, panic obliterated and replaced with something sacred: vengeance.
Panic gives way to focus, and the hum returns to my bones.
I am here, daughter. Duskae’s promise snakes through my mind, and I’m soothed by her presence. By her refusal to abandon me.
Because I wasn’t burnt out—I was forgetting my power.
“Okay, before you do that,” Ronyn cuts in, “I’m assuming I’m allowed to do the whole Tarrakai thing now?”
The Starborn army claws at the Nullveil, desperate to reach us. Rhyven’s smug face waiting patiently.
But my friends are ready—weapons raised, muscles coiled tight at the promise of violence.
As pandemonium beckons, it’s the prophecy that calls to me, words slipping through my mind like a whisper, and snagging in my throat.
And in the skies where wild winds sing,
Beast and bond form a timeless ring.
“Yes,” I whisper. “And this time, we take to the skies.”
His face twists into something feral. “See, this is the kind of plan I can support,” he nods, all mischief and cheek, removing his ill-fitting leathers in preparation.
Kael unsheathes a blade, silver and shadow crackling at his other palm.
Teddy crouches low, axe above his shoulder.
Jax harnesses from Kael, shadows licking at her wrists.
Seren checks her crossbow bolts.
And together, we ready to bring the world to its knees.