Chapter Fifty-Five
ELYSSARA
Ronyn doesn’t wait—his arrow flies, piercing through the throat of a soldier before he can even raise his sword. The man gurgles, blood bubbling over his lips as he crumples, the crest of King Thalmyr barely catching the dim light before it’s swallowed by darkness.
I drop low into a fighting stance and move like a predator converging on its prey.
Steel screams against steel. The tunnels are a cacophony of clashing blades, strangled shouts, and the wet crunch of bodies hitting stone. The copper tang of blood thickens the air, hot and suffocating, as I twist beneath the arc of a sword—its edge grazing the braid at the nape of my neck.
Too close.
I lunge low, dagger flashing up, and feel the sickening split of flesh as the blade sinks between ribs. The guard crumples, blood pooling at my boots—but there’s no time. Another one's already on me. I pivot hard, my blade locking against his, the impact rattling up my arm.
The tunnel is a mess of bodies and steel—no room to maneuver, no light but the guttering torches throwing warped shadows against the stone. Every shout, every clash, echoes tenfold, bouncing through the narrow space like a scream that won’t stop.
“On your left!” Ronyn’s voice cuts through the din.
I duck instinctively as a sword whistles past—missing me by a breath before Ronyn’s arrow thuds into the attacker’s throat. He winks at me, another arrow already notched.
“You owe me one, El!”
I shake my head at his levity, slashing through the legs of another guard as he charges.
And then I see him.
Kael.
And gods, it’s terrifying.
He moves like a storm made flesh—silent, merciless, inevitable. Shadowweave lashes from his hands, curling like smoke, dragging guards into the dark before their screams are cut short. His sword gleams under the torchlight, blood-slicked and merciless, carving through armor like paper.
One guard lunges for him—too slow.
Kael sidesteps, shadow tendrils snapping tight around the man’s throat. With a flick of his wrist, the guard’s head jerks back, spine bending at an unnatural angle before the shadows slam him into the tunnel wall with a wet crack.
Blood spatters. Bones break. Kael doesn’t flinch.
Another comes at him from the side—but Kael’s already there, driving a blade upward, straight through the man’s jaw. It pierces through the top of his skull with a sickening crunch before Kael wrenches it free.
His jaw is tight, sweat running down his temple, but his eyes—stormy and wild—are locked onto the chaos like he’s feeding off it.
There’s no hesitation. No mercy.
It’s not the way a man fights. It’s the way a weapon does.
And for a breath, I’m horrified.
But it’s short-lived—because that dark, sharp-edged thing buried deep inside me?
The part I don’t like to look at?
It’s in awe.
Because he’s devastating. Brutal. Beautiful in the way a wildfire is—terrifying and unstoppable.
I don’t want him to stop.
But I see it now—the strain pulling at him. The shadows wrapping the horses above ground are eating him alive. His magic frays at the edges, slipping under the strain of distance—but he won’t let go.
I slice and bend, maiming and tearing through the next wave without thought, the world falls away and only the kill remains; I’m in the killing calm.
And I relish it.
I relish the way the darkness feels when I let it in.
Bursts of bright white light spear through the tunnel, finding their targets with unerring precision. It takes me a moment to register—Jax is wielding my magic.
Bolts of Lightborne magic fire from her fingertips, obliterating guards into nothing more than fine ash.
I draw inspiration from it—from her, from the well of power singing in my chest, clawing at my binds to be unleashed. I siphon small amounts out and send them into the fingertips of my left hand, while my Starforged Blade sings and brands its victims with every slice in my right.
I spear my magic out with one hand and carve into throats with the other—and the feeling is sweet, possessed by rage and fury of years spent in hiding.
I feel invincible.
Every drop of magic the gods buried inside me rejoices in my brutality.
And then it hits—
Pain, sharp and cold, tears through my ribs.
I stumble.
My vision tilts, the weight of the blade in my hand vanishing as the world lurches sideways. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth—except I haven’t been cut.
My heart thunders, but there’s another rhythm beneath it—another pain, deeper, older.
Kael.
I can feel him.
His magic is fraying—each tether stretched thin, snapping one by one as he pours everything into holding that godsdamned cloak above ground. I can feel the pull of it, the weight dragging him under like a rip tide.
And worse—
I can hear him.
Not with my ears.
Inside my own mind.
“Elyssara—where the fuck is she?”
The thought isn’t mine.
It’s jagged. Raw. His. Breaking into my mind like a blade through bone.
“Kael—?” I gasp, my hand curling against my ribs where the phantom pain sears.
“Get. To. Her.”
His voice, rough and desperate, claws through my mind before vanishing like smoke.
“Elyssara—MOVE!”
Merrik’s shout yanks me back to the now.
I barely twist in time—a sword cleaving down where my head had been.
My dagger’s gone—lost in the chaos—so I grab the nearest thing I can, a broken pike from a fallen guard, and ram it into my attacker’s chest.
Blood sprays hot against my cheek. My hands shake.
“What the fuck was that?” I breathe. But there’s no time. The battle rages on, brutal and relentless.
And I still feel him.
Feel the strain of him holding on—barely.
Every time he takes a hit, the ache echoes in my bones.
His pain is mine now.
And he’s losing.
A guard lunges for Seren—blade aimed for her unguarded back.
“Seren, down!” I scream, throwing my whole body forward.
I tackle the guard mid-swing, my pike plunging into his side.
His blood soaks into my gauntlets, but I don’t stop—not when Seren scrambles free, not when another slash grazes my shoulder, not when the phantom pain from Kael’s fight somewhere in these tunnels flares again.
His strength is draining fast.
I can feel the tremor in the Shadowweave, the threads threatening to snap.
“Kael, hold on!”
I don’t know if he can hear me.
Don’t care.
And then—
Like a ghost of a thought, his voice brushes the edge of my mind—
Raw. Ragged. But sure.
“For you? Always.”