Chapter 60 #2
The fire element in my veins heated, burning away the eerie chill that had taken hold.
The flames around my fists came alive again, snapping and crackling with renewed vigor.
Beneath my skin, I felt the steady stir of the earth and water elements I shared with Fallon, awakening in tandem, anchoring and empowering me as they danced with my air.
I walked past the Grim, approaching Captain Thorne until the toes of our boots nearly touched.
I looked down at the man I once believed was the root of all my suffering—the enemy who haunted every shadow of my past. But as I stared at him now, bruised and shackled, I felt…
nothing. No anger. No bitterness. The weight that had pressed on my chest for years, heavy like bricks laid one by one, lifted.
I could breathe.
And that breath was because of the ones who had chipped away at my armor, only to help forge it anew. Cleo and Tatum. Laney, whose love remained etched in every heartbeat. Lakota. Allie. Nash. Rhodes… even Shayde. Each of them had carved their names into my story, shaping the person I’ve become.
And then, like a whisper from the wind, Rhodes’s words from the rooftop echoed in my mind: “Your biggest enemy is yourself.”
The air element stirred gently around me, whistling through the overgrown foliage and whispering across my skin like a breath of affirmation. The flames that had once blazed around my fists softened—not in surrender, but with the quiet strength of resolve.
It wasn’t weakness. It was peace. A sign that I no longer feared the man before me.
I knelt at his level. Slowly, I drew a dagger from the sheath on my thigh—the sharp ring of steel slicing through the silence, echoing off the stone and withered walls of the courtyard. I held it steady between us, the firelight from my veins casting flickers across the blade.
Then I looked at him—really looked.
At the bruises mottling his face. At the quiet resolve in his eyes. I searched for something—anything—that might justify finishing what the Grim started. Some final betrayal. Some lingering malice. Some reason to let go of the mercy blooming in my chest.
But I found nothing.
Michael Thorne held my gaze, lifting his chin with slow deliberation, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. He didn’t tremble. He didn’t strain against the tungsten shackles or plead through the gag. He simply watched me, accepting that I held his fate.
The big bad wolf no longer had power over me. Because he was never truly my enemy.
This was the man I’d known as my father for almost my entire life. He didn’t deserve my forgiveness or resolution. He didn’t deserve to know who I’d become.
He did not deserve me.
But he didn’t deserve to die either.
In one motion, I flipped the dagger in my hand, the metal cold against my fingertips as I grasped the blade’s edge without hesitation.
With a sharp twist of my wrist, I sent it flying behind me.
The blade sliced through the air with deadly precision—then sank into the Grim’s abdomen with a wet, sickening thud.
She let out a snarling screech, doubling over as blood bloomed across the emerald fabric of her cloak.
Her hands clutched at the wound, her eyes snapping to mine.
Her earth element retaliated on instinct, lurching to life in the courtyard as thick vines burst toward me, aiming to bind my limbs.
But with a sharp swish of my arm, the foliage turned to ash midair, crumbling to nothing before it ever touched me.
I lunged at the Grim, slamming her back against the stone wall with a force that rattled the courtyard.
My dagger twisted deeper into her abdomen, and she let out a gut-wrenching cry, her face contorting in agony.
Her cloak darkened with fresh blood as I yanked the blade free, the metallic scent thick in the air.
Without hesitation, I drove my forearm across her throat, pinning her in place.
She gasped and clawed at my arm, her eyes wild with fury and pain, but I held firm—just enough pressure to choke, not to kill.
My jaw clenched as her words slithered into the space between us, venomous and deliberate. “You’re just like her,” she spat, voice strained through gritted teeth. “Harlow.”
At the sound of my birth mother’s name, my grip on her throat tightened, my forearm pressing harder. Her breath hitched, but still, she smiled through the pain.
“Vengeful, but weak,” she hissed. Her gaze slid past me, landing on Thorne crumpled behind. “Unable to finish the job. That’s what got her killed.”
My heart stuttered, and my grip faltered for just a breath. It was all the Grim needed. With a snarl, she shoved me off, her palms slicing through the air as she summoned a gust so sharp it cracked like thunder. It hit me square in the chest, meant to send me flying.
But I didn’t fall.
My boots skidded against dirt and loose rock, heels digging deep. I dropped to one knee, fingers clawing into the earth to anchor myself. The wind howled around me, but I held my ground. The power she tried to break me with only made me dig in harder.
I sprang onto the edge of the fountain in the center of the Bolthole, the stone slick beneath my boots.
Using it as leverage, I launched myself into the air, channeling my air element to carry me higher, faster.
I flew toward the Grim with a roar caught in my throat, landing a solid right hook to her jaw midair.
The force knocked her off her feet, and we crashed to the ground together.
We rolled across the cracked stone floor, a whirlwind of fists and claws. Her nails scraped down my arm and my elbow cracked against her ribs. Blood smeared across our skin, but I didn’t relent.
Then suddenly, her arms jerked up above her head.
I blinked, breath heaving, as I realized they were pinned—bound by Captain Thorne.
He had used his own shackled wrists to trap hers, locking them together in a makeshift bind.
A muffled shout tore from behind his gag as he held her in place, jerking his chin toward her struggling form.
I frantically tore into the inner folds of her cloak, my hands shaking with adrenaline.
My fingers brushed the smooth leather of Cami’s scripture, and I yanked it free.
Then, deeper in the pocket, I felt it—cold and pulsing like a second heartbeat.
I wrapped my fingers around the Mareki shard, the gem icy against my palm.
A surge of magic raced up my arm, the arcanial pull immediate and consuming, as if the shard recognized me.
The Grim let out a savage growl, and her limbs thrashed beneath Thorne’s restraint.
Her eyes blazed with fury as she yanked her knees up, slamming them into his ribs with brutal force.
Thorne grunted, his grip faltering for half a second—but it was enough.
The Grim wrenched one hand free, fingers curling as she summoned a surge of her stolen air element.
Wind exploded outward in a shockwave, throwing both of us backward.
Thorne crashed against the wall with a sickening thud, and I hit the ground hard, rolling across the stone.
By the time I scrambled to my feet, the Grim was already standing. Blood streaked her cloak, her hair wild, her breathing ragged. I blinked—and in that instant, she vanished, dissolving into a swirling burst of smoke that twisted and disappeared into the shadows.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I rushed to Thorne’s side, where he slumped against the cold stone floor. Pressing two fingers to his neck, I found his pulse—weak, but alive. I shook him gently, and his eyelids fluttered open, consciousness returning in slow waves.
Without hesitation, I looped his bound wrists over my head, pulling his arm across my shoulder. With a grunt, I lifted him to his feet. Captain Thorne wobbled on shaky legs, leaning heavily on me as we stumbled out of the Bolthole and into the winding inner halls of Mageia.
It didn’t take long before we ran into an Aryan elemental. I lifted Thorne’s bound wrists over my neck and ordered the soldier, “Take him to the infirmary and get those tungsten shackles off.”
I was three paces away when Captain Thorne’s voice stopped me. “Thank you.”
I froze, then spun on my heel to meet his gaze. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”
Then I was running—racing back to the ones I called home.