Page 21

SARIAH

T he cold morning air cuts through me, but I barely feel it.

I’m too focused on the flutter of tension that’s taken root in my belly since our sparring session.

Kaelith and I have been trekking for hours across frosty plains, each step crunching through ice-crusted earth.

The wind nips at my cheeks, and though I clutch my cloak tightly, I can’t banish the warmth burning in my core—the memory of him sprawled beneath me, momentarily vulnerable, our faces inches apart.

It’s been two days since that moment. Two days of restless nights, either forging ahead by moonlight or huddling together in meager camps.

We’ve repeated our training drills each dawn, practicing wards, illusions, and tactical maneuvers.

The synergy that sometimes flickers between our magics is exhilarating, if also frightening.

We’re growing more synchronized, trusting each other’s reflexes and power.

And that trust has begun to bleed into other areas—like the way we sometimes catch each other’s eyes over a campfire, or how my pulse quickens whenever our hands brush.

Now, we journey over a gentle slope that leads toward a valley scattered with black-limbed trees.

Twisted branches stretch skyward like claws.

Thin snow lines the ground, making the terrain slick.

Kaelith walks a few strides ahead, scanning the horizon.

His massive wings remain half-folded—ready to extend at the slightest hint of danger.

I note the tension in his shoulders. He’s more wary than usual.

“Do you sense something?” I ask quietly, matching his pace. My breath puffs white in the frigid air.

He narrows his golden eyes, runes glinting faintly on his chest. “Not sure. The land feels… uneasy.” His voice is low, tinged with the same undercurrent of caution I feel pulsing through our tether. “We should keep alert.”

I nod, drawing my cloak tighter. The brand on my wrist itches, a sign of mounting nervous energy.

A day ago, we spotted fresh boot prints near a half-frozen creek, which could indicate travelers or potential foes.

Drayveth. The name stirs dread in my heart.

My old mentor would be relentless, especially if he’s convinced I’m well on the path to Nyxari corruption. And if he finds Kaelith…

I swallow hard, pressing forward. The valley dips into a narrow ravine, where the wind whistles between rocky outcroppings. Runnels of ice cling to the stones. Kaelith lifts a hand to caution me as the path narrows. “Let me go first,” he murmurs, voice pitched low.

We edge carefully around a protruding boulder, the ground dropping off sharply on our right.

My boots skid on a patch of concealed ice, and he clasps my elbow, steadying me.

Heat flares where he touches me—an unwelcome reminder of that tension crackling between us.

I catch my breath, glancing up at him. He meets my gaze, wings shivering in the breeze.

For an instant, something unspoken passes between us.

Then he retracts his hand, stepping forward again as if nothing happened.

We navigate the ravine in silence, the wind’s keening cry our only companion. I keep scanning the craggy walls for any sign of movement. My brand itches more fiercely, fueling my unease. Kaelith is right—something about this place sets me on edge.

By midday, we emerge from the ravine into a small clearing lined by skeletal trees.

Thin sunlight filters through overhead branches, illuminating patches of snow.

I take one wary step, then freeze. My hair stands on end.

There’s a hush here, as though the wildlife has fled.

Kaelith halts beside me, wings half-extended. He feels it too.

A faint sound behind us—barely more than a whisper—pricks my senses.

I spin around just as four shapes detach from the shadows, stepping into the clearing with lethal grace.

My heart seizes. They’re purna, or at least they wear the insignia of a rogue faction.

Hooded figures, each brandishing a staff or dagger.

At their center, I recognize the taut line of Drayveth’s shoulders, though his cowl hides most of his face.

“Sariah,” Drayveth intones, his voice slicing through the brittle air. “I expected you to be halfway to your grave by now.”

My pulse pounds. “Drayveth.” A swirl of mixed emotions storms in my chest. Anger, fear, betrayal. “You won’t be rid of me that easily.”

His cold laughter echoes. The other rogues fan out, encircling us. I sense Kaelith tensing at my side, a rumble vibrating in his chest. My brand burns with raw energy, a sign that my magic’s stirring in response to the threat. Stay calm, I tell myself.

“Just surrender,” Drayveth says, stepping forward. The sunlight glints off the brand on his wrist—similar to mine, except he’s turned it into a twisted mark with added runes. “Your destiny is written, Sariah. Don’t make this more painful.”

Kaelith’s low voice rumbles. “You corner us with four purna assassins, and you expect a polite surrender?”

Drayveth’s hood shifts, revealing a sneer. “Ah, the gargoyle. We suspected you’d be with her. Only a matter of time before your corruption seeps into her. Or perhaps she’s the one corrupting you. Either way, we end this now.”

My heart clenches. They truly believe I’m beyond redemption, just like Nerezza was. Fury ignites, fueling my determination. “You know nothing about me.”

One of Drayveth’s companions, a wiry woman with shaved hair, brandishes a staff. “We know enough. You unleashed forbidden magic, and you’ve allied with a monster.” Her staff glimmers with swirling runes, the hum of necromantic energy lacing the air. “Stand aside, or we’ll kill you both.”

Kaelith bares his canines, runes pulsing a warning. “Try it.”

I feel the tether surge, connecting us with heightened clarity. Energy swirls in my chest, but also in him. This moment, fraught with danger, crystallizes: Fight or die. Drayveth lifts a hand, power crackling at his fingertips. “Take them.”

The ambush snaps into motion. The woman with the staff lunges, chanting a string of necromantic words.

Shadows coil along the ground, writhing toward Kaelith’s legs.

He slams a foot down, stone magic rippling outward, shattering the creeping darkness.

Another rogue leaps at me, dagger slashing.

I duck, adrenaline sparking across my nerves.

Kaelith roars, wings flaring wide, swiping a clawed hand at two attackers who try to flank him. They scatter, hurling magical bolts that blaze with chaotic color. He blocks one with a quick upward slash of his own kinetic wave, but the second hits him in the side. He staggers, growling in pain.

I snarl, raising my hands. My mind races, sifting through old incantations. Focus, Sariah. Combine your training. I conjure a shimmering ward around Kaelith. The tether hums, enabling me to sense exactly where he’s hurting. My barrier absorbs another blast from the necromancer’s staff.

Drayveth steps into my peripheral vision, chanting under his breath. My instincts scream. He’s summoning something vile—shadows swirl around his fingers like ribbons of living darkness. “You left the coven once,” he hisses. “Now you’ll die by the power you once revered.”

I grit my teeth. My brand flares painfully, reacting to the magic Drayveth wields.

Old ties, twisted with malice. No. I gather my own arcane strength, forging a sphere of radiant light in my palms. The purna next to Drayveth tries to intercept me, but Kaelith lunges, fists crackling with earthen force.

He knocks the rogue away, sending them sprawling in the snow.

Drayveth releases his conjuration: a skeletal serpent of pure shadow that slithers across the ground toward me. Terror quakes in my chest. The serpent’s crimson eyes glow with unholy light. “You should never have defied me,” Drayveth intones.

Before it can strike, I hurl my sphere of light.

The two magics collide in a dazzling flash, arcs of black and silver dancing across the clearing.

My sphere wavers, the serpent pushing back, venomous fangs snapping inches from my face.

I grit my teeth, pouring more energy into the sphere. Come on, Sariah!

Behind me, Kaelith is grappling with two rogues.

I sense his pain through the tether, feel the grit of his determination.

He thrashes, claws raking across an attacker’s chest. A scream echoes.

The second rogue flings a blade wreathed in greenish flames.

Kaelith barely dodges, stone shards erupting underfoot.

“Sariah!” he roars, voice straining. “Don’t lose yourself!”

I see his fight out of the corner of my eye, but Drayveth’s serpent demands my full attention.

My arms tremble as it lashes against my sphere.

Drayveth’s power is stronger than I remember, fueled by hate and twisted convictions.

“You’re a stain on the purna legacy,” he growls, voice echoing.

“Better to kill you than let you become Nyxari.”

Rage flares inside me. I am not another Nerezza.

The memory of all I’ve lost, all I’ve struggled for, ignites a fierce resolve.

With a cry, I channel my synergy with Kaelith, drawing on the faint echoes of his earthen magic that linger in the tether.

A swirl of fiery energy merges with my sphere, intensifying it into a searing, brilliant beam.

The serpent screeches, black coils thrashing.

Drayveth’s eyes widen in alarm, but it’s too late.

My beam engulfs the creature in a burst of white-hot radiance.

It unravels, leaving behind a swirl of fading shadow.

For a heartbeat, Drayveth looks stunned.

Then fury contorts his features, and he hurls a final bolt of chaotic magic at me.