Page 175 of Lana Pecherczyk

“Fuck yourself raw.” River twisted.

They rolled, a tangled mess of limbs and hatred in the mud.

“Where’d he go?” River turned, spinning on his heels.

Ash pointed. “There.”

A single speck chasing fading airships. The world tilted.

“He left us?” Disbelief colder than the grave.

River wrenched the pendant. The cord snapped. Leather burned against his palm, but the sapphire remained his. They tumbled apart, gasping for breath.

He had it.

He fucking had it.

The crowd’s roar was a distant, meaningless sound beneath Blake’s possessive pride pulsing through their bond. He surged upward. Three strides. Two. He dove toward the middle of two flags representing his trove. He slid through the mud as Ash lunged from the side, fingers snatching empty air where River’s ankle had been.

Thump.

He slammed the pendant onto his team’s treasure pile. Victory.

Across the trampled battlefield, Cloud remained kneeling where they’d fallen. He didn’t move. Just watched River through the cheering chaos, torchlight, and dark drizzle. His eyes weren’t angry. Not hateful.

Just … empty. Hollowed out.

Lost.

Chapter

Fifty-Three

CIRCA 200 YEARS AGO

“Hold still.” Manfri dipped the bamboo needle into black ink. “This will sting.”

Nikan returned three days ago after receiving a message through Sera, who had been partying with him in Cornucopia. Now the three males sat on Manfri’s balcony beneath a waning moon, finishing what they started years earlier.

“If this works,” he explained as he wiped the ink and blood from Nikan’s forearm. The design was now complete. He glanced at Cielo. “We’ll never be alone again.”

Months had passed since Cielo’s first words. His strength had returned gradually. He was still a shadow of his former self, but his wounds had closed, he’d gained weight, and he could walk the length of Manfri’s room without faltering.

Nikan nodded, studying Cielo with careful eyes. “Are you certain? Once done, it can’t be undone.”

Cielo simply extended his arm.

Manfri went to work, replicating the same design. The tattoo took shape beneath his skilled hands. It was anintricate pattern of spirals, feathers, and sharp angles forming a stylized triad symbol. Every tap drove the sacred, mana-infused ink deeper, binding them together with magic older than their traditions.

Long minutes passed in silence as Manfri worked.

“The Untouched want to kill us,” he eventually muttered. “They fear what’s different. But we can become what they fear most.” He blotted excess ink from Cielo’s skin. “Guardians.”

Nikan’s sharp inhale cut through the night. “You mean join the Order of the Well?”

“I’ve been thinking.” He sat back, examining his work. “We need more power. The three of us should enter the ceremonial lake.”

“Not sure that’s a good thing,” Cielo muttered.