Chapter Seventeen
Therion dismounts first, his movements as smooth and purposeful as ever.
He steps forward, his posture rigid, scanning the darkened forest ahead with an intensity that’s almost palpable.
Seren once told me that Aetherstride means “energy walker”—a gift that lets its wielder move through the unseen, sensing what others can't. They don’t merely track footprints—they feel the pulse of life, the lingering echoes of presence, the whisper of energy in every space they pass.
It’s what makes them unparalleled trackers—not just following trails but sensing them.
Kael dismounts with an ease that borders on predatory, landing soundlessly on the forest floor.
Before I can think to dismount myself, his hands are on me, gripping my hips firmly.
Without so much as a word of warning, he hauls me off the horse, his strength making the effort seem trivial.
My feet hit the ground lightly, but his hands linger for a fraction longer than necessary, their weight steadying me—and sparking something else.
The warmth of his touch settles low in my belly, and my breath catches before I force myself to focus. I can’t let myself feel this—not here, not now. Not ever.
“It’s time to show me how you fight, Duskae,” Kael says, his lips curling into a smirk that both infuriates and unsettles me.
I scowl at him, brushing my hands over my tunic to distract myself from the way his words settle over me like a challenge.
“I thought you were meant to be protecting me, Shadow Boy,” I bite.
“I shouldn’t have to fight at all.” I snap the words like an insult, but we both know there’s not a chance I’d let someone else fight my battles.
His gaze doesn’t waver. It’s sharp, unrelenting, and far too knowing.
He unsheathes his twin swords in a smooth, deliberate motion, the steel catching the dim light as he holds them at his sides.
“I’ll protect you from what you can’t defeat, Elyssara,” he says, his voice low and steady.
“But I know a warrior when I see one. And you’re no helpless damsel.
I’ve seen you set fire to things that stand in your way, and I know you won’t sit idly by while others fight for you. ”
My flesh turns hot at his approval—something about how he says it makes me feel like he sees me. Truly sees me.
He takes a step closer, and the forest seems to fade into the edges of my awareness. His voice drops lower, softer, but no less commanding, rich with an unshakable confidence that wraps around me like a physical thing.
“I’ll fight at your side and guard your back, Elyssara, like it’s my own life on the line. You’re mine to protect,” his eyes bore into mine, “and I don’t take that lightly.”
His words punch straight through me—but it’s the way he says mine that leaves me breathless.
The possessiveness in his tone is undeniable, and though I should bristle, I don’t.
Instead, something in me responds, my breath catching as heat coils low in my belly.
I know he’s referring to the deal we made, but there’s something in the way he claims me that feels like. .. more.
“I... understand,” I manage, my voice strained.
He steps closer, the intensity in his gaze softening slightly, but the tension between us only deepens. “Good,” he says, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Because no one touches what’s mine.”
The words linger in the air, heavier than the forest mist clinging to the ground. My throat tightens, but I force myself to look away, turning my focus to the dense shadows of the Frael Forest ahead.
Therion’s voice cuts through the tension. “We’re surrounded. We fight here. Now.”
Kael strengthens his grip on the hilt of his swords, his calm, predatory demeanor returning as if nothing had passed between us. But the weight of his words—and the heat of his touch—stay with me, burning beneath my skin.
“Seren, stay on the horse. Ronyn, nock an arrow and be ready. Therion, ready your axe. Elyssara...” Kael moves around, gaze searching for what he knows is present but cannot see, “your blades won’t cut it—they’re too short. You’ll need more reach.”
As if the weight of the unseen presses down on us, my chest tightens. Kael offers me the sword from his left hand—the one he refused to give away in Duskridge Hollow.
“Use this.”
I notice Therion’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he quickly shakes his head in disgust, his distaste for the gesture glaringly apparent.
I don’t know if it’s the sword or the symbolism behind Kael offering it to me, but Therion looks like he’s just watched a line get crossed.
But now is not the time to debate the necessity of it.
“Thank you,” I say with genuine sincerity. No warrior shares their weapon, especially not one made from whatever this is—blackened steel that looks like death incarnate.
Therion’s voice cuts through the tension as he scans the shifting shadows.
“Duskprowlers. Huge cats with fangs as long as your hand, and venom in their claws. They hunt by entrancing prey with their eyes. Fast, cunning, and relentless—once they’ve marked you, they don’t stop.
” His tone is gruff but steady, the words carrying the weight of someone who’s faced them before.
We form a tight circle, our backs to one another, the forest pressing in on us from all sides. The suffocating canopy overhead allows only faint trickles of light to break through, making the glowing amethyst eyes of the duskprowlers all the more menacing.
Seren’s voice shakes as she speaks. “Don’t make eye contact. They will lure you in. But I have an idea.”
She fumbles in the saddlebag, her hands trembling as she pulls out flares. Lighting one, she tosses it to the ground. The sudden burst of light causes the prowlers to recoil, their shimmering coats catching the faint illumination.
“Ronyn!” she calls. “Grab a stick—light it from the flare!”
He does as she says, moving quickly and lighting a makeshift torch. He passes one to Therion, who swings it in a wide arc, forcing the creatures to keep their distance.
“Clever girl,” Therion says approvingly.
“Keep them at bay!” Seren shouts, her voice firm now, as she lights another stick for Kael and one for me.
The fight begins in earnest.
Kael steps forward, sword glinting like a shard of darkness in the faint light.
His stance is predatory, each movement deliberate, fluid.
At his side, Therion wields his massive axe with a brutal efficiency that sends shards of bark flying as he readies himself for the duskprowlers' advance. They are a stark contrast—Kael’s precision and lethal grace beside Therion’s raw, unrelenting power.
Together, they’re a storm waiting to break.
Ronyn stands a little to the side, bow at the ready, his stance deceptively casual.
He draws an arrow with practiced ease, his sharp gaze fixed on the shadows.
His expression, usually filled with cheek, is now focused, calculating.
He looses an arrow, and the whistle of the shaft slicing through the air is the only warning the first duskprowler gets before it collapses, the arrow embedded perfectly between its glowing eyes.
Another prowler leaps from the shadows, and Ronyn fires again without hesitation. This time, the arrow pierces the creature’s open maw, silencing its guttural growl. “That’s two,” he mutters under his breath, his tone almost light, but his eyes remain razor sharp.
“Eyes up, Ronyn,” Therion growls, swinging his axe in a devastating arc that cleaves through a prowler lunging toward his flank.
The beast doesn’t even hit the ground before he turns to the next, his movements swift despite the weapon’s weight.
He plants his feet, the sheer force of his strikes leaving gouges in the earth as he fights with a relentless warrior’s precision.
He turns before they move, as if their intent reaches him before their bodies do—Aetherstride in motion.
Kael moves like a shadow, silent and deadly, weaving between the advancing beasts.
His sword and dagger flash in synchronized arcs, each strike precise and devastating.
A duskprowler lunges for him, claws extended, but he ducks low, driving his swords upward into its chest and his dagger into the side of its neck in one fluid motion.
He spins, using the momentum to slash at another beast, cutting it down before it can land a blow.
“Keep close!” Kael barks, his voice sharp and commanding as he throws his head toward me.
Seren, still lighting flares with trembling hands, shouts, “There’s a weak spot! The base of their skulls—just below where the shimmer fades!” Her voice rises above the chaos, her intelligence cutting through the panic like a beacon.
Kael nods, adjusting his strikes to aim for the weak point Seren identified. His next kill is swift, his blade finding the spot with pinpoint accuracy. He casts her a brief glance of approval before returning to the fray.
I grip Kael’s sword tightly, the weight no longer foreign in my hands.
My small blades were perfect for the tight Virellin’s streets, but here, in the open chaos of the forest, they feel like toys.
Kael’s sword feels different—alive, its weight pulling me into each movement, as though it’s guiding me.
A duskprowler lunges for Seren, its claws slashing through the air. “Seren, down!” I shout, lunging forward to intercept. The blade in my hands moves instinctively, slicing across the creature’s throat in a clean, upward arc. Blood sprays as it collapses, but there’s no time to celebrate.
Another beast is already upon me, and I spin, ducking beneath its claws as I drive the blade into its side.
My movements are clumsy compared to Kael’s lethal grace or Therion’s brute strength, but they’re effective.
I’m no warrior, but survival has always been my greatest skill, and I use every ounce of it now.
Revryn’s training urges my strikes to land with precision and my feet to move with practised skill.
Ronyn’s voice rings out, cutting through the chaos. “El, left!”
I pivot just in time to see another cat-like beast with paws the size of Kael’s boot lunging for me. Before I can react, Ronyn’s arrow strikes true, embedding into the creature’s neck. “You’re welcome,” he calls, his grin audible even in the chaos.
The flares Seren lit are starting to dim, their protective light fading.
The duskprowlers press closer, their numbers overwhelming despite the kills we’ve racked up.
My leg throbs, and I look down momentarily to see the left leg of my trousers ripped to shreds and crimson blood pooling in my boot.
I’ve been clawed at some point in the fray, and the effects of the wound are slowing me down, but I force myself to keep moving.
Kael is suddenly there, his back pressed against mine as he cuts down another beast. “We need to finish this,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Dig deep, Lightborne.”
The words ignite something in me, a fire that burns through the pain and exhaustion. I tighten my grip on the sword and step forward, slashing at another prowler that dares to come close.
Therion’s voice booms above the noise. “Hold the line!” He plants his axe in the ground, yanking a dagger from his belt and hurling it into the eye of a prowler creeping toward Seren.
The beast drops instantly, and he’s back to his axe in the blink of an eye, a feral growl escaping his throat as he swings.
The golden light beneath my ribs begins to flicker again, stronger this time, pulsing in time with my racing heart. My vision blurs, the world around me fading as the energy builds, demanding release.
Kael’s voice snaps me back. “Elyssara, stay with me!”
“I can’t—” The words catch in my throat as the light surges upward, searing through my veins.
“Everyone down!” Kael shouts, stepping aside and throwing himself to the ground just as the coiled magic bursts from me in a blinding wave.
The golden light surges from within me, rushing outward in waves.
It’s warm—scorchingly warm but not painful.
The air hums with energy, crackling like a storm.
My skin tingles as the power courses through me, and the faint scent of something sweet, like stardust, lingers in the air.
The world blurs, consumed by the light, and for a moment, I feel weightless, infinite, untethered.
The light radiates outward, engulfing the duskprowlers. Their screeches echo through the forest as their bodies convulse, choke, collapse, and disintegrate into ash, the golden glow swallowing them whole.
The light fades. The forest stills. For a heartbeat, nothing moves—not even the wind. The air feels lighter, cleaner—purified—as if the darkness has been purged.
I drop to my knees, the sword slipping from my grasp as I clutch my chest. The pain in my leg returns with a vengeance, but it’s drowned out by the sheer exhaustion weighing me down.
Kael kneels beside me, his strong arms scooping me up with a care that feels out of place in this brutal, bloodstained forest. His voice, so often commanding and sharp, softens to a murmur meant only for me.
“Rest now, Elyssara,” he says, his lips barely brushing my temple as he speaks.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.” The words settle over me like a promise, and as darkness begins to claim me, it’s his warmth that lingers.
I begin to slip from consciousness, but I swear I hear Therion say, “You’re making a mistake, brother. You’re too close.” But before I can press further, the world goes dark.