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SERA

I feel it before it happens.

The inevitability of it.

The truth I have refused to face.

I was never meant to survive this.

The battle rages on around me, but it no longer matters. The bodies. The smoke. The stench of burning steel and flesh. It is nothing against the weight settling in my bones, pressing into my ribs like an iron brand.

Hazeran stands before me, his silver eyes gleaming, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looks at his sons.

"It is time."

The world stills.

The Drazharel brothers—five of them, ruthless, cruel, powerful—hesitate. They’re beaten black and blue, forced to submission by their father.

Veylan is bleeding from head to toe, not a part of his body unstained by his blood.

For a fraction of a second, they do not move and that is all I need to understand the truth.

I need to be the sacrifices. It’s the only way to defeat Hazeran.

Veylan and I lock gazes, and I can’t describe the look on his face. Guilt? Sorrow? Pain?

Hazeran’s voice slithers through the air like a whisper of fate. Final. Absolute.

"The siren must die. Whoever kills her will be rewarded by me."

I hear the sharp inhale of breath beside me.

Veylan.

I don’t look at him. I cannot.

His fingers twitch at his side. He already knew.

A strangled noise claws its way up my throat. Betrayal, rage, grief. It is all the same. The magic binding me is strong, but I’m pushing against it with every fiber of my being fueled by my emotions.

A gargle leaves my lips. Almost there, I need to speak! To sing!

I have nothing left to lose.

And yet, it still hurts.

The brothers move.

Maelrik first, stepping forward, his blade drawn, his crimson eyes unreadable. Indifferent.

Vaedros next, rolling his shoulders like he is shaking off a burden. Unbothered.

Drathis watches me, his expression torn between amusement and regret. Amused. Pitying.

Xalith. Brutal. Merciless. Ready.

Then Veylan.

His fingers flexes around the hilt of his sword.

He has always known.

I stand.

Blood coats my hands, my arms. I’m not sure if it’s even mine. I do not care.

I lift my chin.

I do not beg.

I do not scream.

I do not run.

I let them do it.

Veylan moves first.

His steps are slow, measured, like he is forcing himself. His face is unreadable, carved from stone. He is cold. A monster of his own making.

But I see it.

The flicker of something shattered behind his eyes.

"Do…it." My voice is hoarse and raw as I speak despite the magic binding constricting my mouth and throat. “At least, I die…choosing…to die.”

The last sentence comes out as a garbled mess.

He does not respond.

He lifts the blade.

I close my eyes and he cuts me open in the heart. The pain isn’t only physical, Veylan’s actions cut through my soul and shreds every part of me.

Pain and anguish bursts through me, red-hot and all-consuming, a fire that rips through my veins.

My blood spills onto the altar.

The magic takes it greedily.

I fall.

My knees hit the cold stone. My body trembles, heat pouring out of me in thick, pulsing waves. The ground beneath me shudders.

The ritual begins.

The chanting starts, a language I do not understand, ancient, deadly, binding.

Suddenly, Hazeran screams.

“What did you do?” he screams, shaking and trying to break free. “Fools! All of you! How dare you deceive me?”

The wind howls.

Lightning splits the sky.

The altar glows, the runes carved into its surface pulsing with an eerie, hungry light. It is drinking me in.

Stealing what I am.

Taking what little I have left. Slowly, my life drains from me.

Veylan is still there. I can feel him.

I force my eyes open, my vision blurred, the edges of the world unraveling.

His face is twisted, but he does not stop. He cannot. He was never mine.

Not truly. Not in the ways that mattered.

I hold onto the stone as my pulse weakens.

The magic inside me writhes and it finally breaks the binding magic, and despite the pain in my throat, I push through and pours all my emotions, my hopelessness, and my broken dreams.

I do the only thing I have ever known how to do.

I sing for the broken me. My last song for a life that is cut short.

It is not for them.

Not for vengeance. Not for mercy.

A song of rage. Of ruin. Of grief.

The sound splinters the air.

The world shudders.

The altar cracks beneath me, a spiderweb of breaking stone.

The magic twists.

The ritual falters then it binds Hazeran faster, stronger.

Hazeran’s eyes widen.

The brothers stumble back and Veylan’s grip trembles.

I laugh.

Or maybe I am screaming.

The pain in my heart, in my whole being, rips me inside and out and I collapse onto the ground.

Darkness takes over… and it’s finally peace.