Page 151 of Magical Mayhem

And there—

Grandmother Elira.

She stepped down from the Academy steps, her form no longer fragile, no longer frail. The glow around her was ancient, older than any magic I had ever touched. Her body burned withlight, not of flame but of Stonewick itself, the deep, living pulse of the land.

For the first time, she wasn’t the grandmother bound by mirrors or shadows. She wasn’t bound to the Academy. She wasn’t the ghost of the Academy. She was Stonewick incarnate…its protector, its heart, its fury.

And she took the step over the threshold, knowing what would happen next.

My breath caught. “Grandma…”

She didn’t look at me. Her eyes, bright as emerald fire, were locked on Malore.

On her husband.

On the man who had cursed Stonewick, who had divided us, who had tried to break me in the same strike that should have ended Keegan.

Her jaw tightened, her hands raised, and the ground itself seemed to bow beneath her.

“Elira,” Malore snarled, his voice cracking like thunder. His massive form wavered in the light, his claws shrinking back as though the glow itself burned him. “You dare—”

“I dare.” Her voice rang across the courtyard, steady as stone. “For my granddaughter. For my son. For Stonewick.”

She flung her arms wide, and the air split with ancient magic.

Roots tore through the ground, older than memory, thicker than tree trunks. They surged upward, glowing with green fire, wrapping around Malore’s limbs and dragging him back. The earth cracked, the stones splitting as the vines drove into his shadow-flesh, searing him.

Malore roared, his body writhing, shadows sputtering under her grip. He tried to strike her, his claws lashing, but her light blazed brighter, plaiting a shield that shattered his storm like glass.

I lay frozen, my body too broken to rise, but my heart hammered as I watched.

This wasn’t a ghost fighting.

This was Elira.

This was my grandmother.

This was the magic Stonewick had saved, bound, hidden away for this very moment.

And she knew…all the times I’d questioned her about her future, her wishes, her hopes.

She knew this moment would come.

The purest form of heroism.

The Silver Wolf surged to her side, her silver glow entwining with Elira’s green light, claws and fangs tearing into Malore as he bellowed. My father rushed forward too, torch blazing, his face streaked with grief and fury, his body moving with a strength I hadn’t seen in years.

Together, they fought.

Together, they held him.

And all I could do was watch as the world burned slow and bright around me, the fire in my veins dimmed but not gone, my chest heaving with pain and awe.

I should have felt terror.

But all I felt was the heat building again, not just from the Flame Ward, but from the sight of them, Elira, Frank, the SilverWolf, standing against Malore, their light blazing like beacons in the storm.

Malore howled, his shadow-fur curling into smoke, his shadows cracking, his roar filled with both fury and fear.