Page 25

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SERA

P ain blooms in my whole being, sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs.

The metallic tang of blood clings to my tongue, the taste of violence lingering in the aftermath of Veylan’s wrath. His grip is unrelenting, fingers curled around my wrist as he pulls me forward, his body a solid wall of fury.

The corridor ahead is a tunnel of shadow and flickering torchlight, stone walls trembling with the echoes of his destruction. Behind us, the bodies of Velkiron guards litter the floor, their final gasps drowned beneath his rage.

He killed them for me. Because of me.

But I am not safe.

The wound in my side pulses with every step, sticky warmth spreading through the tattered remains of my dress. My legs tremble, but I force them to keep moving. If I falter, if I slow, we will not make it out of here alive.

I have seen Veylan fight, have witnessed the brutality he wields like an extension of himself, but even he is not invincible.

Velkiron will not let me go without a price.

The hall twists into a wider chamber, the walls narrowing like a throat waiting to swallow us whole.

We are not alone.

A dozen figures step from the darkness, blades gleaming beneath the eerie green glow of Velkiron’s torches. Their magic slithers along the stone, weaving insidious patterns in the air.

Traps.

They were waiting.

Veylan growls low in his throat, his grip on me tightening for a fraction of a second before he shoves me behind him.

“Stay close.”

The command is sharp, edged with something dangerous. Something that should terrify me.

But I do not cower.

Not anymore.

A figure steps forward. His robes billow like dying smoke, a dagger glinting in his hand. His lips curl, amusement flickering across his face.

“You are quite the nuisance, Dreadlord,” he muses. “And you, little songbird—” His gaze flickers to me, hungry, calculating. “Your voice is wasted on him. Do you even realize what you are?”

Veylan moves before I can react.

Steel flashes.

A wet, sickening sound.

The man’s body collapses, blood spilling across the stone in thick rivers.

The rest attack.

Veylan meets them head-on, his blade a blur of motion.

I can do nothing but watch.

He is merciless, unstoppable. Each strike is measured, calculated, his blade cleaving through bodies as though they are nothing more than paper.

But even he is outnumbered.

Magic hums in the air, a vile, putrid thing that sends shivers down my spine. They are using something forbidden.

I feel it.

It coils inside me, the wrongness of it pressing against something deep, hidden.

My skin burns.

The wound at my side throbs, but it is not pain.

It is power.

A gift I never asked for.

The magic inside me stirs.

And it wants to be used.

Veylan snarls as an arc of black energy slashes toward him. He dodges, but not fast enough.

The spell rakes across his side, searing flesh, burning through armor.

His body jerks. He grits his teeth, but I see it. The way his breath stutters, the way his stance shifts just slightly.

He is hurt.

And I will not lose him like this.

My fingers curl into fists. The power inside me screams.

A song builds in my throat, unbidden, raw. The air vibrates around me, thick with something unseen.

I just open my mouth and sing.

The moment the first note leaves my lips, everything stops.

The torches flicker violently, their flames leaning toward me as though reaching for something ancient.

The nearest assassin stumbles, his blade clattering to the ground as his body locks in place. His breath shudders. His pupils dilate.

Then another.

And another.

All of them.

Frozen. Trapped.

Bound by my voice.

The sound is not human.

It is something older.

Something more.

Veylan’s head whips toward me, silver eyes wide, his chest heaving.

I should stop.

I do not.

The melody rises, and the magic inside me bursts free.

The walls tremble.

The torches blaze.

The assassins collapse.

Bodies jerk and convulse, their mouths open in silent screams as they fall like broken dolls.

I don’t understand the process of how I can do this.

Only that it is over.

My knees buckle, the implications of what I just unleashed pressing down, suffocating.

And then—Veylan is there.

Hands gripping my arms, holding me upright. His touch is fire, consuming.

His breathing is ragged. Unsteady.

I force my eyes to his.

His expression is not anger.

Not even shock.

It is something else.

Something close to reverence.

His grip tightens.

“You—” He does not finish the sentence. His jaw clenches, silver eyes burning.

I don’t take my gaze from him.

I understand.

The prophecy. The power. The thing inside me that should not exist.

The Destroyer.

The Siren.

Me.

The moment breaks.

The stronghold is still not safe.

More will come.

I take a shaking breath. Meet his gaze.

“What now?”

His lips part—like he means to say something devastating.

He smirks.

The expression is vicious.

He leans in, voice low, silk and steel against my skin.

“Now, we burn this place to the ground.”