Page 14 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

Chapter 14

Vale

T he magic here twisted, warping the air itself into something that crawled beneath my skin. It wasn’t just the scent of blood, though that was thick enough to coat my tongue. Not just the shifting walls, the flickering sigils, or the cold press of something unseen watching.

It was the Dreaming itself.

It slithered around us, curling through the cracks in reality, warping the stone beneath our feet, the space between breaths. It was alive. And it had no intention of letting us go.

I tightened my grip on my blades, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Xavier still held Nyrah, his stance firm, his grip too tight. His fingers wrapped around her as if bracing for something to rip her away. His jaw was locked, tension rolling off him like a storm about to break.

Then Idris stepped forward, his golden magic flickering beneath his skin, faint but present, curling at his fingertips like it wanted her. Wanted to shield her. To keep her safe.

"Let me take her." His voice wasn’t a demand. No sharpness, no edge. Just quiet certainty. A promise bound in four simple words.

Xavier didn’t move at first, his grip on Nyrah tightening, his gaze shifting to me. He was waiting for my answer. I swallowed, ignoring the burn at the back of my throat, and nodded.

Xavier exhaled sharply and adjusted his grip, shifting Nyrah’s weight. "Don’t drop her," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it. Just the last vestige of reluctance before he finally let go.

Idris took her carefully, his arms solid and steady as he pulled her against his chest. And for the first time, I really saw it—how small she was.

Nyrah had always been tiny, had always needed me to protect her. And now she seemed more fragile than ever.

A sliver of gold flickered around Idris’ hands, unbidden, curling over Nyrah like a warding spell. His lips parted slightly, like even he hadn’t expected it.

I felt the bond pulse. A quiet, unnamable thread pulled tight between us.

Idris swallowed hard and met my gaze. "I’ll keep her asleep. I’ll keep her safe."

Something inside me eased. Not completely. Not yet. But enough. I exhaled slowly and gave him a single nod.

I had spent my whole life protecting my sister. But right then—for the first time in ten years—I wasn’t doing it alone.

Her body was limp in Idris’ arms, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. She needed to stay unconscious. I wasn’t ready to face the reality of what might happen if she woke up.

Escaping was my only focus.

The Dreaming disagreed.

The world lurched as a hallway stretched open ahead of us, impossibly long, impossibly dark. Torches lining the walls flickered sickly green, their flames casting shadows that moved when they shouldn’t. A slow, rhythmic pulse crawled through the air, like something vast and ancient was breathing just beneath the surface.

I sucked in a sharp breath, steadying myself, but Kian cursed beside me, his illusions flickering wildly around his fingers.

"Don’t trust it," he gritted out. "None of this is real."

He was right, but that didn’t make it any less dangerous.

Xavier was next to me in a heartbeat, his grip firm on my wrist as the walls shivered like something beneath the stone was alive. "We move fast. We don’t stop. We don’t listen."

Talek exhaled sharply, his storm-gray eyes distant, his head tilted slightly, like he was hearing something we couldn’t.

And then the Dreaming showed its teeth.

It gave us what we wanted to see.

For a second—a single, shattering second—I saw home.

Not the rough hovel of a cave I’d left behind, but the home I’d dreamed of when I let myself hope. Nyrah’s laughter echoed down the hall. I heard her running ahead, her voice bright, happy?—

What I’d always wanted for her.

My gut twisted. No. No, I knew better.

Idris had told me the rules of the Dreaming: “Believe nothing. Trust nothing.”

Kian snarled. "It’s playing with us?—"

Then the illusion snapped.

The hallway melted away, and the ground underneath me vanished. I barely had time to react before Xavier yanked me back. My heart slammed against my ribcage. There was nothing beneath my feet—a sheer drop, black and endless. If Xavier hadn’t grabbed me, I would have fallen straight into the void.

I whipped around, swallowing the bile in my throat. "Move. Now."

They didn’t argue. I barely made it five steps before a whisper skittered along my skin.

"Vale?"

I froze at Nyrah’s voice before turning sharply, heart in my throat, eyes locking on Idris.

Nyrah shifted in his hold. Her fingers twitched. Her face scrunched like she was about to wake up. Panic clawed through me.

Not yet. Not yet.

Idris’ grip on her tightened. His jaw clenched. "No," he breathed, his voice raw, laced with magic. "Sleep."

A soft pulse of golden energy settled over Nyrah, pressing her deeper into unconsciousness. Her breathing evened out, and her body went still again.

I met his gaze. He was pale, his arms tight around her, his magic thrumming with something like desperation. I felt it. The sincerity. The promise. He would keep her safe.

I swallowed hard, nodding once. "Let’s go," I muttered, turning away before the lump in my throat could strangle me.

Kian exhaled sharply. "Before she wakes up again, preferably."

Talek flinching was the first sign something was wrong. His head snapped to the side, his whole body going rigid.

Then Xavier stiffened, his sword already drawn.

A whisper crawled through the dark. Low. Amused. Familiar.

"What a tragic little group you are."

My breath froze in my lungs as the scars on my back ached. The shadows ahead thickened. Twisted. And then he was there.

Arden.

My hands clenched tighter around my blades. He looked… comfortable. Unbothered. Like he was expecting us. Like he had been waiting.

"Come now," he drawled, stepping forward as if he had all the time in the world. "No words for your rightful king?"

Talek’s lips curled into a silent snarl. Xavier’s grip on his sword was tight enough to break bone. But Idris hadn’t moved.

His rage swelled through the bond, a dangerous, quiet thing.

I exhaled sharply, forcing my heartbeat to steady. Arden wasn’t real. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.

The Dreaming shuddered. The world shattered. Walls twisted. The ground ripped away. I reached for Xavier—but my fingers passed through empty air. Kian’s illusions flickered wildly, trying to fight the chaos.

Talek snapped his head up, eyes wide. "He’s twisting it—he’s twisting reality?—"

A sharp tug yanked at my stomach, and I stumbled.

Then I fell—not into darkness. Not into nothing. Into something else.

With a gasp, I hit solid ground. Pain lanced through my knees and ribs. I forced my head up. And I saw them.

Idris. Arden.

They stood feet apart. Arden smirked, comfortably, like he had been waiting. Like this was exactly what he wanted. Idris was rigid, golden magic pulsing at his fingertips. But he wasn’t holding his sword.

He was holding Nyrah.

She was still unconscious, limp against him, golden light curling over her like a protective ward.

My pulse hammered against my chest.

Shadows slithered around us, spiraling at the edges of my vision. The walls of the sanctuary stretched and twisted, shifting between solid stone and something else. Something living. The sigils carved into the floor flared, warping, their original meanings lost under layers of malicious intent.

I could barely hear my own breath over the weight of the magic pressing in, over the pulse of something massive, watching.

Arden sneered, his hands resting at his sides, casual as ever, but the air around him hummed with dark magic. Not just his own. Zamarra’s, too.

"Come now, brother. We both know why you're here. You've been waiting centuries for this moment"—His fingers curled, and the walls of the Dreaming shivered—"So take it."

The Dreaming quivered, a subtle shift. A pull. It was baiting Idris—baiting him with vengeance. Golden fire flared at his fingertips. The air around him crackled with restrained magic, a wildfire barely contained.

And for a split second, I thought he would do it. That he would choose vengeance over us.

Over Nyrah.

Over me.

I felt Idris tense through the bond, his fury sharp, burning. His entire life had led to this moment. His vengeance. His justice.

And then Nyrah stirred.

A tiny exhale, barely a whisper against his chest. Her fingers twitched. Not awake. Not yet. But close.

The moment Idris noticed, a war flickered across his face.

Arden saw it, too. His laugh echoed through the sanctuary, nearly splitting my skull.

"Oh," he said, mockingly soft, "what’s the matter? Not willing to risk your precious mate and her little pet?"

The moment Arden spoke, the Dreaming pulsed, rippling through the air like a living thing—slinking, curling, twisting through the cracks of reality.

And then—it showed us.

It wasn’t like an illusion. Not like Kian’s magic. Not like anything I had ever seen before.

It was real—or it would be.

A soft, golden glow flickered over Idris’ hands, curling over Nyrah’s still form as he clutched her to his chest. His blade, poised midair, trembled slightly.

And then time fractured.

The walls around us melted, stone dissolving into shadow, light bleeding from the air until all that remained was the vision.

I saw it. I felt it.

Idris stepped forward. One foot. One second. His golden magic surged, swelling like wildfire, blazing through the suffocating dark. His sword—a gleaming arc of light—sliced through Arden’s throat.

A clean cut. A swift execution. A king’s justice.

Arden didn’t scream. He stumbled, his smirk twisting—not in pain. Not in fear. In triumph. Then his body collapsed. And before his knees could even hit the ground, Nyrah gasped—a sharp, ragged inhale.

Her spine arched. Her fingers curled into claws. The light around her shattered.

Her lips parted—her breath became a scream—her body convulsed against Idris’ chest.

And then… Silence. A cold, dead quiet that sank into my ribs like a blade.

Idris’ arms tightened around her, his hands shaking.

"No," he whispered, hoarse and raw. "No, no, no?—"

He shook her. Desperate, frantic—his golden magic spilling from his hands, trying to reach her, touch her, heal her. But there was nothing left to save.

Nyrah’s body fell limp in his arms. Her skin ashen, her breath stopped. Her light, her soul, gone. Idris staggered back. His chest heaved, his golden magic flickering wildly as if it refused to accept what had just happened.

His golden eyes went wide as he broke.

I had never seen him like this—never seen anything touch him the way this did.

Not in battle. Not in rage. Not in grief.

But this? This destroyed him.

And the Dreaming wanted him to see it. It showed him every detail of what it would cost. The sound of Nyrah’s final breath. The way her fingers went slack. The way I dropped my blades, scrambling forward to grab her—to hold her.

Because in the Dreaming’s vision, Idris collapsed to his knees.

His hands—his hands, once strong, steady, unshakable—cradled her lifeless face. "No, please—Nyrah?—"

The Dreaming was cruel. It let him hold her. It let him break. It let him feel what it would be like to lose her. And then, just before the vision ended, it showed me, it showed him.

My own body, collapsed at Nyrah’s side. My light gone, too.

Idris didn’t just lose her.

He lost me.

Because I would have burned this world to the ground before I let my sister die alone.

The Dreaming let me feel that choice settle in my bones. It let me hear Idris’ scream. It let me watch the moment his magic turned to ruin. It let me see the exact second he lost everything.

And then the vision shattered. Reality lurched back into place. The walls of the sanctuary were whole again. The shadows reeled back into the corners. The Dreaming was silent.

And Idris stood there, shaking. I could still feel his magic pulsing through the bond—raging, fracturing. He stared at Arden, golden fire burning in his hands, and for a moment, I thought he would do it, anyway.

I thought he would kill him.

I thought he would burn the whole damn world down to take his vengeance.

Arden’s smirk deepened. He knew.

"So what will it be, brother?" he whispered. "Me?" He spread his arms. "Or her?"

The air thinned.

Magic crackled around Idris like a dying star. His breath shuddered, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, his golden magic flaring bright, furious. The bond between us thrummed, screaming at me, at him?—

Choose.

His knuckles went white. His jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack. Arden stood before him, so easy to kill. But Nyrah stirred in his arms. Just a tiny movement. A whisper of a breath.

Not awake. But alive.

And Idris... chose.

His sword lowered. His vengeance burned away like embers in the wind. And he let Arden go.

The moment the choice was made, the Dreaming reacted. The world lurched. The walls shrieked, collapsing inward, as if they had been waiting, watching, wanting him to fail. But he hadn’t.

Arden’s smirk twisted, his confidence wavering, just for a second, then he vanished.

Not dead. Not yet. But losing.

The shadows snapped back, and suddenly, Idris was there. He stumbled forward, golden magic flickering wildly, clutching Nyrah tight against him.

Xavier caught his arm, dragging him the last few feet.

The Dreaming howled, resisting.

But then Talek moved.

His head snapped up, his storm-gray eyes locking onto something none of us could see. His breath hitched.

"There," he said hoarsely. "There’s a way out."

I couldn’t see it—neither could Xavier or Kian—but Idris didn’t hesitate. He turned straight toward Talek’s voice, and then we ran.

I could still feel the Dreaming’s hunger, its anger.

I knew Arden would be back.

I knew this wasn’t over.

But when I looked at Idris—when I saw him clutching Nyrah so tightly, so carefully, his golden magic curling protectively around her, his jaw tight, his choice still echoing through him—I knew something else.

He had let go of his vengeance.

For me.

For her.

And when we escaped that cursed sanctuary, stumbling into the frigid night air, I didn’t look back.