Page 24

Like Akares’s Eyes

T he scales radiate deadly heat, searing my feet like molten lava.

But the heat doesn’t weaken me—it fuels me, filling me with strength and making me feel more alive.

The monster’s muscles ripple and shift beneath me, its flesh heaving with raw power.

Its skin is rough and thick, unyielding, yet somehow, it feels delicate and almost fragile.

I can feel the blood coursing through its veins, the rhythmic thunder of its heartbeat reverberating against the soles of my feet. The surface glows, boils, and bubbles.

Akares turns, surrounded by flames roaring around him. His ivory-white eyes fix on me, his lips pulling back into a predatory grin. He looks every bit the deadly hunter, and I, a sun elf, am foolishly daring to face the Scourge of the Star Elves.

I can’t let doubt take hold, not now. It’s too late to turn back.

I draw Voenriel, her weight solid and steady in my hand, and swing her once, feeling the power in her blade.

Planting my feet wide, I brace myself, ready for sudden movements.

Like all elves, I have good balance, but I’ve never stood on the back of a creature like this.

Something tells me it takes more than instinct to master.

For now, it’s easy; the beast is still. But a quiet dread stirs within me as I prepare for the moment it begins to move.

“Well, well,” says Akares, his voice rich and clear, yet tinged with an enigmatic quality. His accent is foreign, likely Demonic, with sharp, unfamiliar pronunciations that linger on the “r.” It’s as if a demon from Saxx is trying to mimic Saradorian, our language.

“I truly didn’t expect visitors today, my dear.”

He moves toward me. His soft leather boots bend easily against the dragon’s shifting scales. And he smiles again as if genuinely delighted to see me. As if I were an old friend he’s longed to reunite with.

I grip Voenriel’s hilt tightly, my fingers slick with sweat, the blade steady. I don’t move, waiting for the Scourge to come to me.

“You’re not much of a talker, are you?” he says, closing the gap to barely an elf-length away.

“I don’t waste my words on snakes, ’Ksnaka.” I hiss his name, letting it drip from my tongue like a curse.

“Is that so? Well, there’s a first time for everything. Tell me, is it also your first time wielding a sword?”

I swing Voenriel, the blade whistling through the air as I lunge for his throat. The tip halts just shy of his neck. “It doesn’t seem like it, does it?”

He grabs my wrist in an iron grip, his gaze boring into mine. Heat flares where his hand touches, burning into my skin. His eyes are hollow, endless, so dark despite their crystalline white hue. But the longer I stare, the more I see they’re not white. They’re translucent, transparent, and?—

I wrench my arm free and blink, shattering his hold over me.

I stagger back, the scorching scales biting into the soles of my feet. With a sharp arc, I swing Voenriel, regaining my balance. Then, with a battle cry tearing from my throat, I charge.

The monster stirs, its scales and wings stirring into life.

I shudder, quickly sheathing Voenriel, but my footing slips. I stumble, tumble, and fall, plunging several elf-lengths before my hands catch on glistening, blazing-red scales, burning my skin. I slide, fingers clawing frantically, nails scraping against the slick surface. Hold on! Don’t let go!

I slip farther but force myself upward, gripping tightly and scrambling between the scales.

My movements are quick, fluid, driven by desperation. The rough, jagged hide tears at my bare knees, shredding the skin like a grater.

At last, I reach its back, pulling myself to my feet. My legs shake, my body trembling as I sweep my hair from my face. I fight to stay steady, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The mist still clings faintly to the air but is thinner.

The monster falls still.

Akares stands farther away now, leaning casually against the monster’s head. His arms are crossed, his mouth curled into a mocking smile. He’s taunting me, amused by my struggle. He saw me fall. He knows I can’t reach him.

Once is enough.

I bolt toward him, sprinting, rushing, throwing myself forward.

I leap across scales, duck under the whip of the tail, and roll once, twice, three times.

I dive over a spike, duck again, and roll.

Sweat pours down my face, my focus razor-sharp, my body burning with determination.

I’m getting closer. Almost there. My heart pounds like a drum, frantic and relentless.

The monster flaps its wings, creating wind gusts to throw me off balance. It doesn’t take flight but shifts sharply to get me off its back.

I’m flung sideways, hurled toward the edge.

And I fall. Again.

Arms flailing, I claw at the air, desperate for something to grab. The monster’s rough hide scrapes against me, tearing at my shoulders, knees, and chin. Everything’s jagged, sharp, and solid.

There! My hand latches onto a spike jutting from its neck. I cling to it, dangling, my legs kicking beneath me. My fingers tighten, trembling but firm. I’ve stopped falling. I’m holding on.

I brace my foot against the spike and climb the monster’s searing side. Its blistering heat floods into me, energizing every movement. Higher, higher, closer. I’m nearly there, only an elf-length away.

But now there’s nothing to hold onto. The skin here is smooth and soft, like the inside of the Hollow. No scales, no spikes…

“Do you need a hand, my dear?”

I look up, and Akares’s deadly smile greets me. Before I can respond, he grips my arm and hauls me as though I’m no heavier than a drifting oak leaf.

A cold dread sweeps over me, my focus narrowing to the feeling of his hand against my arm.

“Don’t touch me!”

He spins me around and slams me against the monster’s broad skull, pinning me between two jagged spikes, each more than half an elf-length long, as narrow as swords and as sharp as serpent’s fangs.

His grip shifts from my arm to my throat, locking me in place with unyielding force.

I can’t move. I can’t escape. Voenriel is out of reach.

“You’re… bold.” His voice is smooth as silk, his piercing eyes narrowing. “No one else has dared to climb up here today. We’ve met no resistance at all. You sun elves are so… dull.”

I writhe and claw at the iron grip around my neck. Breathing is a struggle, each labored gasp tearing at my throat. Voenriel remains sheathed, agonizingly close. I shift, reaching for her instead of his hand, but my elbows are pinned beneath the weight of his body. I can’t move.

“Do you ever surrender, my dear?” he murmurs, his dark, shadowed face hovering mere crystals from mine.

Instead of pulling away as every instinct demands, I lock my gaze with his. I lean in closer, closing the space between us. He flinches, caught off guard. This isn’t what he expected. He’s used to people fleeing and running in terror.

But I can’t look away. I’m mesmerized by his appearance, drawn in by something he’s doing, something in his eyes, those large, bone-white eyes. They seem to pull me under, hypnotizing me and dulling my senses, like a serpent luring its prey, waiting for the moment to strike.

His black skin is matte, absorbing the light. His snowy white eyelashes are impossibly long and exotic, and his thin yet shapely lips are disturbingly inviting.

And the scent, gods, the scent! He smells of wild roses and thorns, of untamed nature mixed with the soft warmth of vanilla. He smells?—

Iszaelda! What in Sesta’s name are you doing?

I grip the hilt of my sword tightly. I have it now. One swift move, and I could end him. But first, I must break free from this crushing hold.

I lean forward as if to kiss him, my gaze locking with his in a connection that feels disturbingly magnetic. It’s strange, almost unnatural, as though we belong together. As though he’s the missing half I’ve been searching for my entire life.

As though he’s fiery close to his downfall.

Just before our lips meet—and gods, my body wants to; it wants to kiss him, for reasons so wrong I refuse to examine it—I slam my forehead into his. Pain explodes in my skull, a sharp, blinding throb that nearly forces a scream from me. But I don’t scream.

I don’t waste the moment. I draw Voenriel.

The blade grazes the silver buckles at my waist as I swing upward. My heart pounds like a war drum, my head throbs, and my breaths come quick and shallow, energy coursing through my veins.

And then… I drive Voenriel into Akares’s heart.

Everything stops—my breath, my hearing, my sight. The world dissolves into a blur as if time has slowed to a crawl, each moment stretching endlessly.

I’ve done it…

He smiles, a grin far wider than the last if that’s even possible. And then he laughs.

I cling to one of the spikes, scrambling frantically, desperately trying to climb away from the Scourge. He’s barely half an elf-length from me.

“You can’t destroy me with that simple steel sword,” he drawls, the air around him trembling with malicious delight.

“I thought you’d be smarter than this, my dear.

I expected you to have studied and prepared, and perhaps naively hoped that I’d finally face a worthy challenge.

But you disappoint me. As everyone does, sooner or later. ”

He drags me down from the monster’s neck and slowly pulls Voenriel from his body.

The sound is grotesque. Steel slicing through flesh and muscle, agonizingly slow.

The air fills with the stench of blood, fire, and death itself.

It’s a dangerous, suffocating smell. Goosebumps prickle my arms as Voenriel emerges, slick with rose-colored liquid.

Akares’s blood.

And yet, he’s unharmed.

Why? What did I do wrong? What?—

“A word of advice for next time, my dear. Be quicker. Be sharper. Be wiser. Don’t stumble. Don’t fall. And above all, learn your enemy’s weaknesses before embarking on any grand adventures.”

He holds out the sword, the hilt extended toward me. His gaze is firm as it meets mine, like a teacher addressing an apprentice.

Is he giving her back?

What does he mean?

Am I free to leave?

I reach out hesitantly, my hand trembling. Then he smiles again, a cruel, mocking smile.

I go numb, freezing under the weight of his grin as if it’s seeped into my core and turned it to ice. I don’t dare move.

It all happens in a single spark.

He lets me go, sidesteps, and twists his wrist. Voenriel spins in his hand, and before I can react, he drives the blade through my stomach.

I scream.

My knees hit the ground, my hands pressing against my waist. Waves of nausea roll over me. The pain is searing, unbearable. Yet I feel strangely numb, disconnected, as though my body is fading away from me.

Akares lifts me with ease, not even bothering to pull Voenriel from my body. He casts me one final, arrogant glance before throwing me from the dragon’s back. Then, without a second thought, he turns away.

I fall. Weightless. Through blistering heat, licking flames, and rushing air. The wind whips at my hair and pushes against my back as if trying to catch and save me.

But it’s hopeless.

Akares’s cold gaze lingers within me, haunting me even as I fall. When I hit the ground, I don’t feel the impact. I slip away, drifting into darkness.

But it’s not the familiar, pupillary-black darkness of sleep or closed eyes.

This is white. Ice white.

The same shade as Akares’s eyes.