Page 23 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

Chapter 23

Vale

I exhaled sharply, my body trembling, burning from the force of it. The light inside me coiled like something alive—too much, too vast, too deep. It wasn’t settling—it was stretching, expanding beyond the limits of my skin, filling the space between my ribs until I thought I might break.

My legs buckled as the world tilted.

Strong hands caught me before I could collapse.

Idris. Kian. Xavier.

Their touch grounded me, anchoring me to reality, even as my body shuddered beneath the weight of the power now thrumming inside me.

Taking a step back, Talek hovered, his expression tense and wary. He didn’t reach for me, but his sharp eyes scanned my face, tracking every tremor, every breath. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew enough to be on guard.

Idris’ grip was firm, unwavering. His warmth bled into me, steady, solid, and unshakable—a tether pulling me back from the edge of something I didn’t understand.

Xavier was there, too, his palm pressing against my back, fingers splayed, his breath warm against my temple. A silent promise, unspoken, but felt through the bond: "I’ve got you.”

And Kian—Kian’s presence coiled through the bond like a vice, sharp with worry. His fear wasn’t loud, wasn’t spoken, but I felt it in the way his magic ghosted against mine, like he was testing, searching, making sure I was still here.

But I wasn’t.

Not completely.

The power in my chest vibrated. My vision blurred?—

“Shit,” Talek muttered under his breath.

I barely heard him before I was gone. Not watching. Not distant. I was in it.

I stood in a grand temple—no, what was left of it. The golden stone was already cracking, magic unraveling from the walls like dying veins. The Luxa were here, their bodies bent in agony as their power was ripped from them, as the temple groaned beneath the weight of an ending.

The sky above churned with silver and black, the Dreaming itself screaming in protest.

And at the center of it all ? —

Idris.

Not as he was now, but as he had been. A king in golden armor, blood streaked across his face, his power pulsing at his core—whole. Still whole.

I wanted to run to him. To stop this. To rip the magic apart with my bare hands. But I couldn’t move. I could only watch.

Standing across from him was Zamarra.

She was beautiful. Terrible. A being of luminous grace, her pale hands stretched outward, fingers delicate as she pulled at the strands of power, weaving them tighter, binding them together with an expertise that made me sick.

Her expression wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t gloating. It was focused. She knew what she was doing. Knew what this would cost. Knew exactly what her magic was about to break.

This wasn’t emotion. This wasn’t rage.

This was science. This was her craft.

She didn’t revel in it. She didn’t cackle or sneer. She simply worked.

She was so focused, so intent, that it took me a moment to see him.

Arden.

He was standing beside her, his face alight with devotion. Not to his brother. Not to his blood.

To her.

His hands moved in tandem with hers, his own magic threading into the curse, reinforcing it. Strengthening it. Feeding it. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t even look at Idris writhing before him.

Zamarra whispered something I couldn’t hear.

And Arden smiled, a slow, terrible thing, as if this betrayal were a gift.

My stomach twisted. My heartbeat pounded in my ears.

Zamarra lifted her chin. And for the first time, I saw it. The moment she realized. The moment she knew.

Idris had loved her. Not as an infatuation, not as a passing romance. But as something more. And she didn’t hesitate for a moment.

Idris was fighting it. His body strained, his hands fisting at his sides, his power fighting back ? —

But the curse was stronger.

The moment it took hold, I felt it—the severing. The pulling. The undoing.

Idris let out a strangled gasp, his back arching—his golden eyes going wide as the magic tore into him, burrowing deep, tearing something apart. Not something.

Someone.

A roar shattered the temple as Rune ripped free from his skin.

The dragon erupted from him, bursting into being in an explosion of fractured light. A great scarlet beast, claws scraping across the golden stone, his wings beating wildly—fighting what had been done.

But the bond was already gone.

Rune stumbled, massive golden eyes wide with confusion, with panic. His mouth opened, but there was no voice. No thoughts through the link.

He turned—instinct pulling him toward Idris, but Idris was collapsing. The scream that followed wasn’t a scream at all. It was a death. It was a severing.

It was a soul being torn apart.

He hit the ground hard, panting, his hands clawing at his chest, as if trying to grasp something that was no longer there. His power had been ripped in half, and he had no way to reach what had been stolen.

And then the curse settled.

The power locked inside Rune, swelling and destabilizing. The air shuddered. The magic of Credour fractured. The world broke apart at the seams.

And still—Zamarra wove the spell.

Still—Arden watched with devotion.

Still—the Luxa fell.

My people, the dream-walkers, the light-bearers. Their bodies wavered between form and formlessness, their light dimming, draining. Their screams tore through the air, soundless in this place, but I still felt vibrations of agony in my bones.

One by one, their bodies crumpled, the last remnants of their power siphoned into the curse. The temple trembled, the stones cracking, their golden light dimming as their lives were extinguished. The last Luxa, the leader—the woman who had spoken to me—reached for something, her gaze lifting skyward.

The last thing I saw was Idris reaching for Rune—his fingers stretching toward the great beast that had been his.

And Rune turned away—not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice.

I gasped, my knees buckling, the world careening back into focus. The ground was solid again. My heart slammed against my ribs. My breath came too fast, too sharp, my lungs trying to catch up to a body that no longer felt like mine.

Hands caught me—strong, steady.

Idris.

Kian.

Xavier.

They were here. They were real.

And Idris’ golden eyes burned as he looked at me. “Vale?” His voice was raw.

I swallowed hard, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just seen. “They didn’t just curse you,” I whispered.

His grip tightened as his gaze burned even brighter. Idris’ pain, rage, and betrayal—it was palpable—I could feel it through the bond.

“They tore you apart.”

And Arden had let her. No. Helped her.

I felt it now—the hatred bubbling beneath my skin, the fury clawing its way up my throat. Zamarra had been a monster. But Arden? He had been worse. He’d loved his brother, and he had betrayed him, anyway.

The curse had settled. The temple had fallen. The Luxa had been stripped bare, their bodies flickering like dying stars. Everything had been lost.

And yet, somewhere beyond the ruins, beyond the devastation, beyond the grave of what had been—hope still remained.

A whisper cut through the Dreaming. Soft. Steady. Not magic, not a spell—a prayer—and I was pulled into a vision as reality around me shifted.

The shattered temple, the broken bodies, the echoes of betrayal—they faded. Instead, I was standing in the Dreaming. But this time, it was whole. Vast. Infinite. The night sky swirled into a spiral of colors stretched in every direction, a place unbound by the rules of the mortal world.

And at the center of it ? —

Them.

I knew them. I had always known them. Their faces, their voices, the way their love had shaped every moment of my childhood, even in the direst of places.

My parents.

They were kneeling before a figure wreathed in light, a goddess standing in the heart of creation itself.

Lirael.

Her presence filled the Dreaming like a rising dawn, her hair shifting with the silver glow of the stars, her gaze vast and endless as the sky itself.

My father’s voice broke on a whisper, a plea carved from his very soul.

"Please, my goddess."

My mother clutched at her robes, fingers trembling. She had lost everything. I had never heard her voice like this—raw, breaking. Not the steady strength I remembered. Not the quiet warmth that had carried me through my childhood.

"We need your help. We can’t do this on our own."

Lirael did not move. Did not speak.

She only watched them—watched the grief that had hollowed them out, watched the prayers that had been whispered into the void, the love and the desperation wrapped in every syllable.

"You ask for salvation," Lirael murmured.

My father swallowed hard. His hands were shaking. "We ask for hope."

Lirael lifted her hands to her chest before drawing it away with light gathered in her palms. The light curled, shifted, reformed, and all too soon, an infant was nestled against her chest.

A child. Small, fragile, but burning with something vast.

The breath wrenched from my lungs.

Lirael held the baby tighter, pressing a kiss to her forehead, a tear falling down her cheek as she offered the infant to them.

She did not say, “This is my daughter,” or “This is your salvation.” She didn’t have to.

And my parents—my mother, my father, the people who had loved me, raised me—reached for the baby.

For me.

Tears blurred my vision. I wanted to scream, to cry out, to warn them. I wanted to tell them what this would mean, what would happen. But I was powerless to stop what had already been.

I watched, helpless, as they took me into their arms, held me close, whispered promises into my newborn skin.

"We will love her."

"We will protect her."

"We will keep her safe."

And Lirael, the goddess who had given me to them, only whispered one thing in return.

"Until it is time for you to let her go."

The Dreaming wavered. Shifted.

The vision of my parents blurred, their whispered promises fading like echoes on the wind. I reached for them—too late. The world around me bent, twisted, and then I was somewhere else.

Pain. It wasn’t mine, but I felt it.

It dragged me under, sharp and unrelenting, sinking deep into my bones. The air around me grew thick, vibrating with magic—old, hungry, and devouring. Shadows curled along the edges of my vision, twisting, shifting, feeding.

And then I saw Nyrah.

She was on her knees, wrists bound, golden skin pallid, her breaths coming in weak, trembling gasps. Her light was flickering—too dim. Draining. Being taken.

And Zamarra ? —

Zamarra stood over her like a goddess in the dark.

No, not a goddess. Something worse. Something that had been broken and reforged into something stronger, something terrible. She was almost whole now. The hollowness in her face was gone. The cracks in her form had sealed, her magic burning with cruel, unyielding life.

She met my gaze, smiled, and then the Dreaming shattered.

A hand closed over mine.

I gasped, my vision snapping back into focus, the weight of the Dreaming pressing against me. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, my skin still burning from the echoes of what I had seen.

Idris.

His golden eyes bore into mine, searching, anchoring me to the present. “Vale.” His voice was rough, a command and a plea wrapped into one. “What did you see?”

I shuddered. The images burned behind my eyes—Nyrah’s fading light, Zamarra’s terrible smile, the magic still siphoning, still taking. But worse than that—Arden was nowhere to be seen.

And that made my blood run cold.

I lifted my gaze to meet his. “We don’t have time.” The words scraped from my throat. “She’s almost whole. And she has Nyrah.”

Xavier swore under his breath.

Talek went still. Not in the same way as my mates, whose emotions pressed through the bond—he had no link to me, no way to feel what they did. But I saw it in the way his jaw locked, the way his fingers flexed at his sides. This wasn’t his fight. Not really.

And yet, he was still here.

But it was Kian who spoke first, his thoughts following mine before I ever said a word. His expression was dark as night. “And Arden?”

I exhaled sharply. “I didn’t see him.”

A heavy silence settled between us. Then Xavier stepped closer, his voice tight. “Which means he’s not with her.”

Kian’s amber gaze flicked toward the distance, toward the fractures in the Dreaming still shimmering in the air. The pieces slotted into place.

Zamarra was still gathering her power, and Arden wasn’t at her side. Which meant?—

“He’s waiting for us.” Idris’ voice was steel, final. “He knows we’re coming.”

A slow, creeping fury coiled in my chest. I had seen what he had done to Idris. I had felt his betrayal like a knife through my gut. And now he was standing between me and my sister?

Not just no. Fuck no.

I gritted my teeth, light searing beneath my skin, my resolve solidifying into something sharp, something unbreakable.

Kian exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. The anger was there—but so was the weight of everything I had just seen. I still felt it in my ribs, in my skull, the power pressing like an unhealed wound.

I clenched my fists—not just at the pain but at the fury. At everything Arden had done. At the fact that he was still breathing.

Kian’s amber gaze met mine, and the bond between us throbbed.

“Then let’s go ruin his fucking day.”

Kian cracked his knuckles, his grin sharp, Xavier exhaled hard, rolling his shoulders, and Idris’ golden eyes burned.

Talek didn’t speak, but his fingers flexed, a small storm of energy flickering to life at his fingertips. He wasn’t bonded to this war, wasn’t bound to these choices the way the rest of us were.

But he still took a step forward.