Page 26 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

Chapter 26

Vale

K ian’s roar rattled the sky, Xavier’s fire ignited the air, and Idris—his golden gaze locked onto Zamarra, unyielding, unforgiving.

And then I charged.

The blade in my hands seared through the illusions, slicing them apart like paper.

And I was on her.

Zamarra lifted her hands, power crackling between her fingers, shadows curling around her like armor. But it wouldn’t save her.

She knew it. She saw it in my eyes. And she wasn’t ready to lose.

She let out a sharp, hissing breath, her golden eyes narrowing, and the ground beneath us split apart. Something crawled from the abyss. Not just a monster, a god’s mistake. It dragged itself from the pit of the Dreaming, its form shifting, writhing, its bones snapping into place only to shatter and reform.

A creature born of broken nightmares and failed dreams, something that shouldn’t exist, something that never should have been allowed to take shape.

And Zamarra fed it. Her magic latched onto the thing, pouring into its bones, its teeth, its too-many eyes.

It turned toward me. Its mouth split open in a jagged, unnatural way—too wide, too sharp, too wrong. And it lunged.

I barely had time to lift my blade before Kian crashed into it from the side, his massive claws raking across its shifting form. Illusions flickered in the air—dozens of Kians attacking at once.

The creature lashed out, jaws snapping as it tried to find the real one.

Xavier’s blue flames tore through the sky, searing the monster’s back, sending up an inhuman, fractured screech.

Talek’s magic bent the air, lashing through the battlefield like a storm, cracking the creature’s bones.

Idris descended from above, his golden form streaking through the sky, power blazing from his wings as he dove.

But it was Freya who struck.

She didn’t wait. She didn’t hesitate. She darted beneath the beast’s reaching claws, her fangs bared, her sword flashing in the blood-heavy air. Her blade sank deep into its side, carving through its impossible flesh, severing one of its many limbs.

The creature let out a guttural, ear-splitting shriek, the sound rippling through the Dreaming like a wound trying to heal but being shredded apart all over again.

And Zamarra moved. She wasn’t running. She was waiting.

She thought I would be too distracted. That I would be too busy fighting her creation.

She thought wrong.

I saw the exact moment she realized it. That I wasn’t going to stop. Her expression twisted.

She let out a sharp, desperate cry, “ No ?—”

But I was already there.

I drove the sword of light—of Dreaming—into her chest.

She gasped. Not from pain—not yet.

The blade of light was buried in her chest, sinking past flesh and bone, burning through the core of her being. The Dreaming pulsed around us, a living thing. It had been waiting for this. For her to fall.

And she knew it.

Her silver eyes widened, shock flickering across her too-perfect face, but I didn’t falter. I didn’t hesitate.

I pressed deeper.

Zamarra didn’t scream. She exhaled—a shuddering breath, a trace of disbelief. Then—her lips curled. Magic seared through the blade, dark tendrils wrapping around the light, twisting, shifting—trying to pull it into her.

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

She was trying to steal it. Her fingers trembled as she lifted a hand, gripping my wrist—not to push me away, but to drag me closer.

"You are mine now," she whispered.

The power that should have been devouring her was slowing. Sinking into her, bending to her will, folding into the void of her body.

She was trying to take everything.

My breath hitched. The Dreaming wavered. The battlefield blurred at the edges as power began unraveling from me, twisting away, feeding her.

Zamarra was smiling.

I snapped, ripping the sword to the side, a brutal, fatal twist.

The light burned brighter, white-hot fire, searing through her body as I wrenched it deeper, twisting through muscle, through magic, through the stolen power she had hoarded for centuries.

Zamarra’s eyes widened. Her lips parted. And this time, she did scream.

Magic exploded outward. Not hers— mine .

It recoiled, rejecting her. The Dreaming lashed against her touch, peeling away from her skin, severing, cutting, burning. She clutched at my arm, but her strength was already failing.

Her body began to fracture.

"You—" Her voice was raw, desperate. She still didn’t understand.

I leaned in, my breath warm against her cheek. "The Dreaming doesn’t belong to you."

The light pulsed, detonated, and Zamarra shattered.

Not a body. Not a death. The Dreaming ripped her apart.

Her form fractured into shards of raw magic, splintering at the seams, peeling away from reality itself. The power she had stolen—the centuries of hoarded, twisted energy—turned against her.

She clawed at it, trying to hold herself together, trying to stay. But the Dreaming had decided it did not want her anymore. Her scream cut off, and then there was nothing but silence.

Not victory. Not yet. Just the Dreaming exhaling, releasing a breath it had been holding for far too long. For a single, weightless moment, everything was still. Like the world itself didn’t believe she was truly gone.

Then, one by one, the monsters fell apart.

They screamed—raw, splintering sounds—as the power that had bound them together began to unravel. Shadowed limbs twisted. Claws curled into themselves. Their bodies convulsed, turning to nothing but dark mist and dying echoes.

The Dreaming did not let them linger.

A wind howled through the battlefield, sharp and final. The creatures writhed, fighting to stay, and then they were gone. The fractures in the sky shuddered. The jagged wounds of reality didn’t close all at once, but silver light began to thread through the cracks, pulling them together.

The red mist that had tainted the air thinned, fading into nothing. The heavy, suffocating weight pressing against my skin lightened, just slightly. The falls cleared of blood.

The Dreaming exhaled.

Not a sound. Not a word. But a pulse of something deep, something vast, something relieved.

And then, slowly, finally, the battlefield stilled.

The fight was over.

And I stood in the wreckage of what had been Zamarra, my sword of light still glowing in my palm. The magic beneath my skin burned, raw and untamed, but steady.

She was gone. But Nyrah— Nyrah .

I spun, nearly stumbling as I ran. Her light—her life—was flickering, dimming, fading.

"Nyrah!"

The sword vanished from my grip as I skidded across the stone, dropping to my knees beside her. She wasn’t moving.

"Nyrah," I gasped, pressing my hands against her shoulders. "Hey. Hey, open your eyes."

Her skin was ashen, her golden glow flickering like dying embers. The magic that should have been hers—that should have been protecting her—was fading.

A tremor racked through her body. Her breath came in shallow, weakening gasps.

No. No, no, no.

The power that Zamarra had stolen—she had been draining Nyrah to rebuild herself. Now that she was gone, Nyrah was breaking apart.

Xavier dropped beside me, his hands hovering over her chest, his magic curling outward in silken threads—searching, testing—his breath caught.

"She’s slipping," he murmured, voice tight.

No. No, I didn’t just fight my way through the Dreaming to lose her now. My magic flared. I reached for her, trying to feed power into her, trying to force her body to hold on. It fought me. Or maybe—Nyrah was too weak to take it.

Panic clawed at my ribs.

"We have to do something," I choked. “I—I can’t lose her. Please .”

Kian dropped to his knees beside me. "Then tell me what the fuck to do."

Xavier’s jaw clenched, his hands glowing with the soft, iridescent shimmer of healing magic. But his voice was raw when he spoke. "She’s too far gone."

I turned to him, my chest caving. "No."

Xavier’s throat bobbed. His gaze flickered to Nyrah, and something in his expression cracked. "We need more."

More magic. More strength. More of us.

Idris inhaled sharply. "Then we give it to her."

The words settled. Final. Certain. For a breath, no one moved.

Then Kian exhaled roughly. "Fine. But we do this together."

No hesitation. No doubt. Just all of us.

Xavier met my gaze, his hands tightened into a fist before he pressed his palm to Nyrah’s chest. "On three."

We moved as one.

Xavier pressed against her sternum. I gripped her hands. Kian’s fingers brushed her temple. Idris' golden power coiled between us as Rune looked through his eyes.

Talek hovered nearby, his hands flexing, the wind whipping around his body. "I don’t do light magic," he muttered. "But I can hold her here."

A pulse of air settled over her like an anchor, keeping her tethered, keeping her from slipping further.

Freya limped toward us, her sword still slick with blackened blood. Her breath came sharp, but her voice was steady. "Move."

She pressed a bloodied hand to Nyrah’s mouth, her magic surging forward, latching onto whatever thread of life was left.

Behind her, Briar staggered forward, her arms shaking, her face pale. But she knelt beside Nyrah, her own flickering power joining ours.

Xavier inhaled. "One."

Magic hummed.

"Two."

The bond flared, a surge of raw energy snapping between us.

"Three."

We let go.

Power flooded from our bodies. Not violently, not forcefully—but steady, controlled, unwavering. Nyrah jerked like she was being struck by lightning. Her back bowed. Her body shuddered.

And then she gasped.

Light burst from her chest, golden and warm, spreading outward like a breath of air after drowning. Her fingers tightened around mine. Her pulse throbbed back to life.

And I let out a ragged, shaking exhale.

"Nyrah?" My voice cracked.

She blinked, her blue eyes the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. She was still weak, still barely holding on—but she was alive. Then her lips curved into a small, weak smirk.

"Took you long enough."

The breath left my lungs in a sharp, broken laugh.

Kian exhaled heavily, sitting back on his heels. "Fucking hell."

Xavier pressed a hand over his face, his shoulders slumping in relief. Idris let out a slow breath, his golden magic settling like embers in the air.

Talek, standing over us, huffed. "I would like to formally request that no one ever almost dies again. Thanks."

Freya let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a hand to her ribs before she collapsed to the ground, staring up at the starry night sky. "Agreed."

Briar shook her head, her voice hoarse. "Don’t make me go through that again."

I let out another shaking breath, pressing my forehead to Nyrah’s. "You’re going to be okay."

She let out a weak, tired chuckle. "Damn right I am."

I squeezed her fingers.

It was over. But beyond the cliffs, beyond the scarred battlefield, the Dreaming wasn’t quiet.

Not truly. Not ever.

It still whispered beneath my skin, shifting, breathing. Waiting. It had always been watching. It always would be.

I had fought my way through it, broken it apart, wielded it as a weapon. But now? Now it wasn’t an enemy. It was a part of me.

And maybe it always had been.