Chapter 106 – Quinton
QUINTON
She was walking away. Walking. My Azaria—upright, sword still in her hand, shoulders held rigid by sheer force—and her hands were shaking. Gods, they were shaking. And I couldn’t get to her.
“Let me go, Elias!” My voice cracked, raw with terror. I thrashed in his grip, tears streaking my face. “She’s scared! She’s fucking scared, Elias, please—let me go!”
But the ward wouldn’t budge. And neither would Elias.
Azaria dropped her sword and dagger. The sound of steel hitting mud echoed across the field. The moment it happened, the writhing mass swept over her—too fast, too thick—swallowing her whole.
She was gone.
The cloud swallowed everything.
I screamed her name.
Minutes? Seconds? The world blurred, my throat torn, fists hammering uselessly at the ward. She couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t see her. All I could do was beg the gods, scream until my voice broke, watch as nothing happened—blackness rolling and rolling, growing bigger.
My magic reached desperately for the bond, searching for any trace of her. But the ward blocked everything. I couldn’t feel her. Couldn’t sense her pain, her fear, her life. Nothing. The barrier cut me off completely.
And then the ground started to shake.
A low rumble at first, then the earth convulsed. The ward sizzled, light flaring, the air thick with magic and panic. I felt the blast before I saw it—magic screamed as the pressure built.
Then, all at once, the world exploded.
A shockwave slammed into me, flinging me backward. I hit the ground hard, pain ricocheting through my skull. Everything went white.
I was dimly aware of bodies tumbling, shouts and cries, the crackle of ruptured magic. The ward and the stones surrounding it were gone—shattered to pieces.
For a moment, nothing moved. The world felt wrong—off-balance, every sense ringing with static. Then I realized—I could breathe.
The stench of rot was gone. The Boom had vanished.
I lay there, blinking into the ruined sky, trying to understand what that meant. The air was different. Cleaner. Like something massive had burned itself out.
Azaria.
I staggered up, still dizzy. My throat was raw from screaming, hands bloodied from pounding the ward.
None of it mattered. The field was a wasteland—ash, churned mud, shattered wardstones.
But worse than that, everything was burned.
The ground was scorched black, still smoking.
Not rot, not decay. Burned. Like something had set the earth itself on fire.
The squad lay scattered, groaning, trying to stand. I barely registered them.
The dust slowly settled. Ash floated in the air like snow. The sky was still stained with darkness—remnants of the abyssal magic that had ripped through the battlefield like a wave with no mercy. The ground was scorched, cracked open like wounds still bleeding.
And there—gods. There she was.
Azaria.
I ran—no, I stumbled, barely upright—across the field. Everything hurt—my body, my magic, my soul. The battlefield fell silent, save for the ringing in my ears and the crackle of fading magic. She lay unnaturally still in the center of the broken earth.
Her clothes were shredded, stained with soot and blood.
But what made my breath catch were the black tendrils—slithering, pulsing like veins—that wrapped around her arms, her legs, her throat.
Abyssal magic, still clinging to her even in death.
They burrowed into her skin, leaving dark trails like ink in water.
Not a single inch of her was free of it.
The corruption had taken root. Her eyes were half open, mouth open in a silent scream.
There was blood under her fingernails; raw, gouged marks on her throat. She had tried to tear her own throat apart. The horror of what her last moments must have been hit me so hard my vision went black at the edges.
“Azaria!” I shouted, my voice torn and raw, but she didn’t move. I fell to my knees beside her.
The rest of the team stared, too shocked to speak. Dain stood apart from the others, perfectly still. His face was empty. Like something inside him had gone out. Lyra was frozen mid-step. Elias lowered his blade.
And Kalias…
The wolf was already moving. The massive silver beast padded forward, ears flat, eyes locked on the still form lying among the ruined ground. His growl was low and pained. When he reached her, he lowered his head and nudged her gently with his nose. Once. Twice. A desperate, silent please.
No response.
He let out a low, trembling huff, like he was trying to breathe life back into her. His body pressed against hers protectively, but she didn’t stir.
My hands shook as I reached out and brushed away the ash from her face. Her skin was cold. Too cold.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no...”
I reached for the bond desperately, searching for any flicker of life. Nothing. Empty, endless silence where her presence used to burn. My arms shook as I lifted her gently, cradling her against my chest, heart pounding like thunder in my ears.
And that’s when Kalias lifted his head. His silver muzzle glinted in the fading light, and his eyes—usually calm, observant—were wild with anguish. He turned his head toward the broken sky, and from deep within his chest, a sound rose—a low, sorrowful howl.
Long. Haunting. Raw.
The kind of sound that sank into your bones and split you in two. A mourning cry that echoed through the ground.
The sound tore through me, through the empty space where the bond used to be. Even the wolf knew. She was gone.
I could vaguely recognize others circling around us. The squad—Reyna sobbing, Kael moving toward us, Thorne and Lirael and Zeph staring in shock. Even Veshar stood silent, his face twisted. Rylen. Tywin. Tallis. All of them gone still.
There were sobs and cries. I didn’t care about any of it.
Because the woman I loved most in this fucking world was lying dead in my arms.
Darann pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees beside me. His hands hovered over her.
“No,” he breathed. “No, Princess, you don’t get to do this—“ His voice broke. He pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “You promised me a drink, you stubborn?—“
He couldn’t finish. He stayed there, bent over her, shaking.
“Let me through—let me see—“ A voice I recognized. Elaria. She must have heard what happened and run from wherever she’d been. Now she was here, pushing through the crowd, desperate to reach her sister. Kael caught her before she barreled into us, her scream piercing the soundless ruins.
I broke apart. My tears fell onto her bloodied neck. My magic was frantically trying to reach her, but there was nothing to hold onto.
For the first time in months, the bond between us was silent. Truly silent.
There were no whispers. No warmth. No her.
My Light, my Love, my Soul—Azaria was dead.