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ORION

The crystal barrier doesn’t just resist my magic—it devours it.

I slam my burning palms against the Academy’s pristine walls for the hundredth time, pouring every ounce of guardian fire I possess into ancient ward-work that swallows my power like a starving beast. The backlash rips through my nervous system, molten agony that whites out my vision completely.

Blood streams down my arms where skin has peeled back to bone. Guardian tattoos spread across my chest in real time, black ink writing the story of my failure while my magic turns against itself.

Four hours. Four fucking hours of this.

And the walls don’t even have scorch marks.

“Orion.” Kieran’s voice cuts through the haze of pain, sharp with exhaustion. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Good,” I snarl, gathering flame around my fists until the air shimmers with heat that should melt stone. The Cauldron burns against my ribs like molten silver, pulsing with desperate need that drives me past rational thought. “Maybe dying will finally get me through these fucking barriers.”

I can feel her. That’s the worst part. Through the guardian bond, Ash pulses at the edge of my consciousness—alive, breathing, twenty feet away and completely unreachable.

She should be terrified. Should be screaming for help, begging for rescue, radiating the kind of desperate fear that makes guardian magic tear reality apart to reach its charge.

Instead, she feels... calm.

That calm is worse than pain.

Because calm means she’s accepted it.

The silence through the bond isn’t peace. It’s surrender.

And guardian magic isn’t meant to survive surrender. It’s meant to fight, to burn, to save.

So why the fuck can’t I save her?

But wait?—

The guardian oath burns like it always does when she’s in danger. But underneath that familiar agony, something else gnaws at me. The bond doesn’t just scream protect her —it whispers trust her . Like she’s not the one in mortal peril here.

The wrongness isn’t that she’s going to die.

The wrongness is that everyone else has no idea what’s coming.

“The magical backlash from your last attempt nearly stopped your heart,” Finnian says from his position among destroyed books, amber eyes holding worry that can’t quite hide bone-deep defeat. “Whatever you’re planning?—”

“I’m planning to reach her.” I turn to face them both, flame flickering around my shoulders in patterns that mirror the black ink consuming my skin. “Guardian magic is supposed to be absolute. No barrier should be able to stop me from protecting my charge.”

“Unless the barriers were specifically designed to use guardian power against itself,” Finnian says quietly.

Understanding crashes into my solar plexus like a sledgehammer. “What do you mean?”

“The ward-work isn’t just repelling your magic—it’s absorbing it.

Feeding on it. Growing stronger with every attempt you make.

” His hands shake as he gestures toward the unmarked walls.

“You’re not breaking through because you can’t break through.

This was designed to stop exactly what you’re trying to do. ”

Through the bond, another pulse of her emotional state. Still that unsettling calm. But now, beneath it, I catch something else—anticipation. Not fear of tomorrow, but excitement for it.

Like someone who’s been planning for this moment her entire life.

My guardian instincts scream that she’s in danger, but my heart whispers she’s exactly where she wants to be.

Why isn’t she fighting this?

“I don’t care if it was designed by the gods themselves.

” I gather every flame I’ve ever commanded, every protective instinct that’s been burning through my veins since the moment I first saw her.

The Cauldron flares against my ribs with heat that should kill me, ancient treasure responding to desperation with power beyond anything I’ve ever channeled.

“She’s mine to protect. And I will burn this entire Academy to ash before I let her face that trial alone. ”

They’ll call it obsession. They’ll say I crossed a line.

But this isn’t love in the mortal sense.

This is blood oath, bone vow, wildfire devotion.

My soul recognizes hers like flame recognizes oxygen.

I don’t just guard her. I’m bound. I’m claimed. And if this kills me—so be it.

Every ancestor who failed their charge screams through the connection, adding their voices to magic that’s been building for hours.

This time will be different. It has to be.

The guardian bond surges like a star going nova in my chest.

Not strategy. Not politics.

Just the pure, primal truth of what she is to me. Not a possession. Not a duty.

A vow made in fire and blood and the space between heartbeats.

I don’t just protect her.

I belong to her.

“Orion, no—” Kieran starts.

Too late.

I unleash everything. Every ounce of guardian magic I’ve ever possessed, every flame I’ve ever commanded, every protective instinct that defines what I am.

The Academy walls begin to crack. Crystal barriers flicker.

Ancient ward-work strains against raw guardian fury unleashed without restraint or self-preservation.

For one perfect moment, hope flares through all three of us.

The barriers shiver. Crack. Begin to?—

The magic rebounds.

Not deflected. Redirected back at me turning my own power into a weapon designed specifically to destroy guardian bloodlines. The backlash hits like lightning in reverse, burning up from earth through every nerve until my bones feel like they’re melting from the inside out.

But something’s wrong.

My guardian magic should be fighting to reach her, burning through any obstacle to ensure her safety. Instead, it keeps redirecting itself. Not toward breaking the barriers—toward reinforcing them.

Like my own power knows she needs to be isolated for this to work.

Like whatever she’s planning requires us to be exactly where we are—outside, desperate, and completely convinced she’s helpless.

I taste failure in every breath.

The tattoos branding my face don’t just mark me—they condemn me. Failed guardian. Broken oath.

And she’s still behind those wards. Alone.

The shame burns hotter than the backlash ever could.

I hit the ground hard enough to crack marble, convulsing as centuries of guardian power turn against itself. The Cauldron burns through my chest like acid, connection to Ash flickering as my nervous system tries to process more magical trauma than any living being should survive.

Guardian tattoos spread across my face in real time, marking me as failed protector while my own magic tears me apart.

“Orion!” Kieran’s hands land on my shoulders, ice magic trying to cool the fire consuming me from within. “Stay with us. Fight through it.”

“The ward-work,” I manage through gritted teeth, tasting copper and ozone. “It’s not just stopping me. It’s learning. Adapting.”

Every attempt I make teaches it new ways to turn guardian magic into suicide.

“They knew,” Kieran says with ice-cold certainty that makes frost spread across the walls. “My father knew exactly what you’d try.”

“Your father designed this.” Finnian’s voice carries defeated precision. “Unseelie ward-work, specifically crafted to kill guardians. He’s been planning this since the moment he learned about the bond.”

I try to push myself upright, but the movement sends fresh agony through every nerve. The guardian tattoos have covered half my face now—permanent testament to failure.

And through it all, through the magical devastation and physical agony, the bond pulses one more time.

She’s still calm. Still... prepared.

Like someone who’s already made peace with death.

No.

No, dammit. She doesn’t get to be calm while I shatter. She doesn’t get to prepare for goodbye while I’m still bleeding to reach her.

Wait. Something clicks.

She spent three hours in that forest with Whispen. Three hours of “existential crisis” that ended with her claiming royal territory and walking back like she’d just solved the universe’s greatest puzzle.

That wasn’t a breakdown.

That was a strategy session.

And we’re all playing exactly the roles she needs us to play.

Hold on, Thorn. Please—just hold on.

“Oh my stars and thorns!” comes a voice crackling with delight. “Such beautiful despair! I haven’t felt this much delicious hopelessness in centuries!”

Whispen materializes mid-sentence, translucent form bobbing between us like a psychotic Christmas ornament. His needle-toothed grin stretches too wide for his face, golden light pulsing with manic excitement.

“Whispen,” I snarl, though part of me is desperate enough to hope even this chaotic spirit might have answers. “If you’re here to mock?—”

“Mock? Mock?” He zooms closer to my face. “I would never mock such exquisite suffering! This level of elegant doom deserves celebration!”

“Do you know something?” Finnian demands. “About the barriers, the trial?—”

“Oh, I know everything!” Whispen spins in place like a demented compass needle. “Tried to reach our precious root-born, tried to slip through those lovely crystal barriers! But the Unseelie magic won’t let me through! She’s completely alone in there!”

Ice crystallizes in my arteries, each beat of my heart pumping frozen shards through my veins. Through the bond, that strange calm pulses again.

Too calm. Too controlled for someone facing execution alone.

“What will the trial require?” Kieran demands.

“Oh, the usual! Solo manifestation of four ancient treasures, unified magical response!” Whispen bounces with each word. “And if any treasure refuses her call, if any guardian’s will conflicts with her command—instant death! Violently! Spectacularly!”

Four treasures. Solo manifestation. The exact scenario we’ve been preparing for, except...

The Cauldron burns against my ribs with recognition that makes my breath catch. Not warning. Approval. Like the ancient treasure knows something I don’t.

What if this isn’t about surviving their trial?

What if this is about hijacking it?

The oath detonates through my spine like liquid lightning, black ink spreading until tattoos cover my throat. Every ancestor who failed their charge screams through the connection.

But underneath the agony, something else gnaws at me. That wrongness I can’t name.

“She’s not afraid,” I whisper, pressing my palm against the Cauldron’s burning outline. “Through the bond... she should be terrified. Instead, she feels...”

I struggle for words to describe the emotional resonance flowing through our connection. Like someone who’s not just prepared—someone who’s ready. Like she’s been planning for this moment.

“Ready for what?” Kieran asks quietly.

“I don’t know.” The words claw up my throat like broken glass. “But she doesn’t feel like someone facing execution.”

The silence stretches between us like a chasm.

“Six hours,” Kieran says finally. “Six hours until the trial begins.”

I try to stand, guardian tattoos writhing as they continue spreading. The movement sends fresh agony through every nerve, but it’s nothing compared to the emotional devastation of realizing I might not understand the woman I’m sworn to protect.

“The guardian oath,” I say, voice like gravel. “It’s supposed to burn until I reach her. Until I can protect her.”

“But?” Finnian prompts.

“But right now, it feels like it’s burning because I’m missing something. Something important.” I meet their eyes, seeing my own confusion reflected back. “What if she doesn’t need protection?”

The admission sits on my tongue like poison, betraying everything I am.

The guardian bond has been lying to me. Not about the danger—that’s real enough. But about who’s in control of it.

She’s not preparing to survive this trial.

She’s preparing to rewrite it.

And if I’m right, tomorrow doesn’t end with her execution.

It ends with everyone else discovering what happens when you corner a Wild Queen who’s finally done pretending to be anything less than what she is.

“What if she needs something else entirely?”

The question hangs in the air like a blade against our throats.

Through the bond, Ash’s heart beats steady and strong, carrying determination that feels less like fear and more like...

War.

“Six hours,” I repeat, tasting the deadline like blood on my tongue.

Six hours to discover whether being a guardian means saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Or learning to trust someone whose plans might be more dangerous than anything I’m trying to protect her from.

Outside the windows, dawn breaks over the Academy like a blade across our throats.

Beautiful and cold and absolutely final.

And through it all, she feels ready.

Ready for something none of us can see coming.