Page 69

Sierra

I felt the exact moment that everything shifted.

The vortex of power swirling through me reached a fever pitch, every cell in my body vibrating with the combined energies of shadow, fire, and light.

The pain was exquisite—not just physical but metaphysical, as if my very soul was being torn apart and remade with each passing second.

I couldn't scream. Couldn't move. Could only exist as a vessel for forces beyond comprehension.

Then suddenly, I wasn't alone.

The forge chamber faded around me, replaced by a garden of impossible beauty. Flowers bloomed in colors that had no names, trees stretched toward a sky filled with multiple suns, and the air itself seemed to shimmer with life. In this liminal space between worlds, two figures appeared before me.

Azrael, the Angel of Death, stood tall and imposing, his silver wings—the same shade as my hair—spread wide behind him.

His colorless eyes regarded me with pride and sorrow in equal measure.

Beside him, Lianna's golden hair caught the light like spun sunshine, her ice-blue eyes—so like Archer's—filled with determination.

"Granddaughter," Azrael's voice resonated through me rather than around me. "You have chosen well."

"The sacrifice must be made," Lianna added, her voice melodic despite the gravity of her words. "But it need not be yours alone."

They each extended a hand toward me, their palms glowing with ancient power.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears.

"I will take your place," Lianna said, her eyes shining with purpose. "I will be the vessel for the final transformation."

"No," I protested, understanding dawning with horrifying clarity. "I can't let you do that."

"It is my choice," she replied with gentle firmness. "My son has found happiness with you and the others. I will not see that taken from him."

Azrael's massive hand closed around mine, his touch surprisingly warm. "Your bond with your mates is too precious to sacrifice, Sierra. The realms need that connection, that balance of powers united in love."

"But the ritual requires?—"

"A sacrifice, yes," Lianna interrupted. "But the texts do not specify who must make it. Only that it must be made."

The garden around us began to pulse with increasing urgency, reality bleeding through at the edges. We were running out of time.

"Take our strength," Azrael commanded, his hand tightening around mine. "Let us lend you our power to complete the forging."

Lianna took my other hand, forming a triangle between us. "My memories, my powers—I give them freely so that you may keep yours."

"But you'll?—"

"I have lived for millennia," she said, her smile serene despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "I have seen wonders and horrors beyond imagining. This is my choice, Sierra. My gift to my son, to you, to all the realms."

Power began to flow from their hands into mine, white-hot and ancient. It coursed through my veins like liquid fire, filling the hollow spaces that had begun to form as the ritual stripped away my essence.

"Remember us," Azrael said, his form beginning to fade. "Remember this moment."

"Tell Archer I love him," Lianna whispered, her body growing translucent. "Tell him I am proud of the man he has become."

The garden exploded in a supernova of light, and I was thrown back into my body with such force that I couldn't breathe. The vortex of power reached its crescendo, and with a sound like reality itself tearing apart, everything changed.

Lightbringer had been forged.

The sword on the dais was transformed, no longer the dark blade of Lightsbane but something new and terrible in its beauty.

It gleamed with an inner light that seemed to bend the laws of physics, simultaneously absorbing and reflecting the forge's glow.

The runes along its length had changed, now pulsing with a power that made the air around it shimmer.

I collapsed to the stone platform, my legs giving way beneath me. The world spun around me, my vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, I saw three figures rushing toward me, their voices calling my name from what seemed like a great distance.

Strong arms encircled me, lifting me from the hard stone.

Callum's scent—pine and shadow—enveloped me as he cradled me against his chest. Rowen's large hand cupped my face, his obsidian eyes searching mine with desperate intensity.

Archer hovered at my side, his ice-blue eyes wide with fear and hope.

"Sierra?" Callum's voice was rough with emotion. "Can you hear me?"

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw, as if I'd been screaming for hours. All I could manage was a weak nod.

"Do you know who we are?" Rowen asked, the question laced with dread.

I reached up with trembling fingers to touch his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Rowen," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "My king. My mate."

The relief that washed over his features was like watching a mountain crumble. He pressed his forehead against mine, his breath shuddering out in a ragged exhale.

"And me?" Callum asked, his arms tightening around me.

I turned my head to meet his pale green gaze. "Callum. My fae. My protector."

His eyes closed briefly, a shudder running through his powerful frame.

"Archer," I called softly, reaching for our third mate.

He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "You remember," he said, his voice thick with disbelief. "You remember us."

"I remember everything," I assured him, squeezing his hand with what little strength I had left. "I have a message for you. From your mother."

Archer went completely still, his face draining of color. "My mother? But how?—"

Before I could explain, the chamber around us began to shift and blur. The forge's heat seemed to recede, the obsidian walls fading like mist in the morning sun. I felt Callum's arms tighten around me, heard Rowen's startled curse, saw Archer's wings spread protectively over us all.

The world dissolved around us, and when it reformed, we were no longer in the depths of Hell but in a sunlit garden that I recognized immediately. The same garden where I'd spoken with Azrael and Lianna in my dreams, though now it seemed more solid, more real.

"What the fuck?" Rowen growled, his tail lashing behind him as he scanned our new surroundings.

"We've been transported," Archer said, his daggers appearing in his hands as he moved into a defensive stance. "But by whom?"

"By me."

The voice came from behind us, and we all turned to see Azrael standing beneath a flowering tree, his massive form somehow fitting perfectly into the garden's peaceful aesthetic. His silver wings were folded against his back, his colorless eyes regarding us with ancient wisdom.

"Grandfather," I acknowledged, my voice stronger now.

Callum carefully set me on my feet, though his arm remained around my waist, supporting me. The three of them formed a protective semicircle around me, facing Azrael with wary respect.

"I have brought you here because the forge is no longer safe," Azrael explained. "The Shadow Beast sensed the forging of Lightbringer and was drawn to its power. It will be searching for you now, with renewed determination."

"Why would you help us?" Rowen demanded, his stance aggressive despite addressing the Angel of Death himself. "What do you gain from this?"

Azrael's lips curved in what might have been a smile. "My granddaughter's happiness is sufficient gain, demon lord."

"Where is my mother?" Archer asked, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "Sierra said she had a message from her."

Azrael's expression sobered. "Lianna has made the ultimate sacrifice. She took Sierra's place in the ritual, offering her memories and powers so that Sierra might retain hers."

Archer staggered back a step, as if physically struck. "What? No, that's impossible?—"

"It was her choice." I reached for him. "She wanted you to know that she loves you, that she's proud of the man you've become."

Archer's face contorted with grief, his daggers disappearing as his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Where is she now?"

"Her physical form remains in the mortal realm," Azrael replied. "But her memories, her powers, her essence—they were consumed in the forging of Lightbringer. She is... diminished."

"She's alive?" Hope flickered in Archer's eyes.

"After a fashion." Azrael's gaze was compassionate. "She exists, but the woman you knew is gone. In her place is a shell, a blank slate. She will need care, guidance to build a new life. She is also now mortal."

Archer's shoulders slumped, the weight of this revelation crushing him. I moved to his side, wrapping my arms around his waist and leaning my head against his chest. His arms automatically encircled me, though his eyes remained fixed on Azrael.

"Why would she do this?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"For the same reason any parent makes sacrifices," Azrael replied simply. "Love."

Callum stepped forward, his pale green eyes fixed on Lightbringer, which had appeared on a stone pedestal in the center of the garden. "The sword," he said, changing the subject to give Archer a moment to compose himself. "It's truly transformed."

We all turned to look at the weapon. In the garden's natural light, Lightbringer was even more extraordinary than it had appeared in the forge.

The blade seemed to be made of material that wasn't quite metal, wasn't quite light, but something in between.

It captured sunlight and reflected it back with prismatic intensity, sending rainbows dancing across the garden.

"Approach it," Azrael instructed. "See what you have created."

Callum moved first, drawn to the sword that had once been Lightsbane, his ancestral blade. As he neared the pedestal, Lightbringer began to pulse with a soft, blue-white glow that intensified with each step he took.

"It recognizes you," Azrael observed. "As it should. Your shadow essence is woven into its very being now."

With reverent hands, Callum lifted Lightbringer from the pedestal. The moment his fingers closed around the hilt, the sword's glow stabilized, neither increasing nor diminishing but settling into a steady radiance.

"It feels... alive," Callum murmured, his eyes wide with wonder. "I can feel it humming with power."

"Lightbringer is more than a weapon," Azrael explained. "It is a conduit for the combined powers of all four of you. When wielded against the Shadow Beast, it will channel your collective strength into a force capable of banishing it back to the void between worlds."

Rowen approached the sword cautiously, his hand outstretched. When his fingers touched the flat of the blade, blue-black flames danced briefly along the edge before subsiding.

"My fire," he said, surprised. "It's still there."

"As is Archer's light," Azrael confirmed. "And Sierra's celestial blood. All bound together by Lianna's sacrifice."

Archer finally stirred from his grief-stricken silence, moving to join the others at the pedestal. When he touched Lightbringer, the sword flared with a pure white light that momentarily blinded us all.

"It responds most strongly to you," Azrael noted. "Your dual nature resonates with its own."

I approached last, my legs still unsteady beneath me. As my fingers brushed the hilt, a shock of recognition passed through me. I could feel them all there—Callum's shadows, Rowen's fire, Archer's light, and something else. A gentle, maternal presence that could only be Lianna.

"She's in there," I whispered, tears filling my eyes. "Part of her, at least."

Archer's hand covered mine on the hilt, his fingers trembling slightly. "Thank you," he said softly, though whether he was speaking to me, to the sword, or to his absent mother, I couldn't tell.

"The Shadow Beast will come for you soon," Azrael warned, drawing our attention back to the matter at hand. "It will sense Lightbringer's creation and seek to destroy it before you can use it against it."

"Let it come," Rowen growled, his eyes flashing with determination. "We're ready."

Callum nodded, his grip tightening on the sword. "We'll face it together."

"All of us," Archer agreed, his grief temporarily set aside in favor of resolve.

I looked at my three mates—demon lord, fae king, and angel-demon hybrid—and felt a surge of love so powerful it took my breath away. Against all odds, I had retained my memories, my powers, my connection to them. Lianna's sacrifice had given us this chance, and I would not waste it.

"Together," I affirmed, placing my hand over theirs on Lightbringer's hilt.

The sword flared once more, as if in agreement, its light filling the garden with the promise of hope, of victory, of a future where darkness would be banished and light would prevail.

Whatever came next, we would face it as one.

To Be Continued…