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DARKNESS FORGED

ELYRIA

Time shattered around Elyria, each fractured second dragging out longer than the last.

She could see it—could feel it. The water swirling around Cedric, his body thrashing inside the orb. His mouth was pinned open in a silent scream, his hands scrambling at his throat, searching for breath that wouldn’t come.

Elyria’s pulse raced, a scream building in her chest, thoughts spiraling, panic gripping her mind.

This can’t be happening again.

Not him.

Not like this.

“Evander, stop!” She beat against his shoulder, his chest, his back. He paid her no notice, like he didn’t feel the strike of her fists or hear the screams tearing from her throat. Even as the decayed strips of his tattered wings sheared off and floated to the floor, he simply stared at the knight he was drowning, a placid smile on his vein-stricken face.

Movement stirred in both corners of Elyria’s vision. Thraigg was getting to his feet, his face still twisted in pain as he lumbered toward the floating sphere, broken arm clutched close to his chest. Dark blood stained the floor where Nox tried to rise as well. Zephyr let out a small whimper, pulling her limbs in toward herself.

All three of them were moving—against pain, against exhaustion, against defeat—drawn by Cedric’s suffering.

Suffering that, injured as they all were, Elyria knew only she could end.

Do something.

Her hands trembled. Or was that the ground—the very Sanctum—shaking? A familiar darkness whispered in her gut, her shadows leaking out and trailing over her skin with the softest caress. Heart pounding, she shifted her gaze back to Evander. His black eyes glittered with amusement, like he was savoring watching the life drain from Cedric.

He is gone . The thought pierced Elyria’s panic, a truth that cut deeper than any blade. She didn’t mean Cedric, who still clung to life within his watery prison. Evander was gone. This creature, this corrupted shell of a man, was not him.

Or at least, this is not what he would have wanted to become.

The thought was as clarifying as it was painful—the sharp sting of a slap rousing one from slumber. She would try to remember him as the man she knew before all this. Before the Crucible and Varyth Malchior robbed the world of Evander’s true light.

Do it now.

Her body moved almost on instinct, hands rising, shadows curling from her fingertips like smoke.

Like he could sense the magic, Evander whirled on her, eyes thin as slits. “Put those away, Elyria,” he hissed. “What good are your shadows when I have my own now?”

Just as he’d done with his tideweaving magic before, he conjured a ribbon of shadow and let it dance between his fingers, weaving between each knuckle.

“Varyth granted me a seed of his magic—magic born of Malakar himself.” His mouth tipped up in a smug grin. “And I’ve had twenty-five long years to tend it, nurture it, let it grow. How long have you been controlling your shadows? A handful of days? We are not the same.”

His fingers jerked, barely a flex, and the ribbon of shadow lashed out, binding Elyria’s hands together, her palms touching as if in prayer. She released a frustrated, feral sound, and inside, her darkness reared back and roared.

“Now stay there and wait like a good girl,” Evander said, lips pursing. “This will all be over soon.”

Rage sparked up her spine. It was hard to see him through the churning water of the orb, but she knew Cedric was running out of time. She felt for that golden thread in her chest, alarm seizing her when she found it limp and listless.

“You’re right,” she said, grabbing hold of that thread with whatever mental power she could spare. She let a pulse of magic rise to the surface.

Evander peered at her, dark brow furrowing.

“We are not the same.”

Much like she’d done to Cedric when he was burning, her shadows wrapped around her, a dense blanket of mist.

And much like he’d done to Nox earlier, she dissolved Evander’s shadow ribbon with a thought.

His eyes widened as he took in Elyria, prowling toward him like a wraith sent by Noctis himself. She wasn’t just wielding her shadows. She was shadow.

And she was pissed.

“Varyth Malchior may be of Malakar’s line,” she said, her darkness swirling over her like a second skin. “And the dark sorcerer’s magic may have trickled down over the generations, eventually saddling him with the powers he so magnanimously shared with you. But me?”

Her fingers curled into a fist, her shadows gathering, layering, solidifying in the empty space beyond it. Creating something sharp. Something new. Forged from her grief. Forged from her love. Forged by the darkness that had once nearly consumed her. “I got it straight from the source. ”

She lunged, thrusting the shadow-forged blade forward and plunging it directly into Evander’s heart.

For a moment, everything was still. Evander’s eyes were pinned open in shock, his mouth parting as if some word sat on the tip of his tongue.

No words came out.

Hot black blood sprayed Elyria’s face as she withdrew her fist—and the shadow-forged blade attached to it—from Evander’s chest.

Her shadows dissipated.

Evander fell to his knees, shock etched into every corrupted plane of the face she used to touch and kiss. The face she’d once thought she would’ve loved forever.

The water orb burst in a wave, and Cedric fell to the floor, unmoving. There was a moment of terrible, heartbreaking silence, and then he retched, water spilling from his mouth. Next came the gasps, his breath ragged and spluttering.

It was the most beautiful sound Elyria had ever heard, followed by the worst.

Evander groaned, a long, harsh, soul-weeping sound. His wings crumbled into ash, his body sagging as blood poured from his wound, surrounding him in a viscous pool of black.

Elyria knelt beside him, hands shaking, body heaving. His blood painted her legs. Fat tears carved tracks down her cheeks. She placed one bloodstained hand on his chest, over his heart, right where she’d stabbed him.

It was not an attempt to stifle the wound—not that it would have made much difference had she tried. It was a reminder for herself of what once lay there.

“This isn’t what I wanted.” Evander’s breaths were uneven as he lifted a hand to her face. She didn’t stop him, didn’t turn away. “He told me so many things. Made me so many promises. And I didn’t...I thought we...” Recognition sparked in his eyes, understanding of what he’d done crashing into him, overtaking him. Regret and sorrow broke across his face—the final remnant of the real Evander.

Elyria never knew it was possible for a heart to break so many times.

“Kit.” With a whimper, he shifted, attempting to turn his head toward his sister. “I’m sorry.” His words were garbled, spoken through a mouthful of blood. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Elyria said.

Evander’s eyes met hers once more as he drew a shaky breath, and Elyria knew it was one of his last. “Tell her I’m?—”

“I will.”

“And Elle...” Her name was barely more than a wet whisper now, the dark veins receding from his skin, his eyes shifting back to brilliant gold.

Her throat tightened. “Yes, Ev?”

“Thank you.”

And then he was gone.