RAVENA
It’s a bloodbath.
The ground is slick with blood, and bodies are falling faster than I can count. Yet, more keep coming. My men are extraordinary—monsters in their own right, cutting down wave after wave of enemies—but it’s not enough. For every guard they kill, three more take their place.
I can feel it, the sharp edge of Malriks' power faltering. His magic is burning out, and without it, the slaughter will only slow. Which means sooner or later, they will be overwhelmed.
My heart lurches when I see Kieran hit the ground, a soldier pinning him with a dagger pressed to his throat. For one, terrifying heartbeat, I think I’m about to watch him die. But Malrik sees and, without hesitation, without a flicker of doubt, he’s there—his hands snapping the man’s neck with such vicious precision the crack echoes even over the storm.
I force myself to breathe, anchoring the power that is thrashing inside me. Panic won’t save him. Fear won’t save any of them. I have to believe in what I came here to do—believe that I can pull Darian back from the abyss and that, once I reach him, he will fight his way back to me.
My hands are steady as I lower the dagger into the bowl. The blade glints red, smeared with both mine and Drew's blood, swirling together as if alive. For a moment, it looks almost beautiful, until the shadows lurking inside the mixturestir, intertwining like serpents ready to strike. It isn’t just blood anymore. It’s a doorway. A tether to the rot clinging to Darian's soul.
I press my palm flat to the edge of the bowl, letting my magic pour out. It doesn’t trickle—it flows, hissing through my very being, spilling into the blood with a violent heat that makes the shadows writhe and thrash. They don’t want me here.
Good.
Because I’m not asking for fucking permission.
“Shadows that coil within the veins, draw forth the stain that clings to the living, Separate the decay from the heart that beats, take from me what you desire, let it burn and bind, that what walks in shadow may yet breathe in light.”
I whisper the words again, drawing the full weight of my magic from every hidden corner of myself, every shred that has been buried. I refuse to fail. With each syllable, I pour not just power, but desperate pleading into the spell, reaching out to the gods, to anything that will listen, begging them to fracture the darkness that’s been forced into him, to wrest it from the cursed blood that binds him. My veins burn with the effort, my body trembling under the strain.
A loud cry slices through the mayhem, and my eyes snap up to see Ronan pinned against a tree, Darian's hand clamped around his throat as the shadows circle him. My words falter mid-chant, the magic quivering in response. Vespera lingers at the edge, watching with that cold, twisted amusement, while Malrik restrains Kieran, dragging him back as the remaining men force them further from Ronan. I want to scream, to tear through the battlefield with my power, to rip him free—but I can’t.
Not yet.
Rage and desperation twist, as Ronan's pain rips through me from the inside out. Darian's grip is merciless, twisting, and I can feel the dark surge of him feeding off it. Shadows clingto him, thick and curling around his form as if drawn to the violence he commands. Kieran lunges, forcing Malrik aside, but he crumples to the ground, clutching his head as if something invisible is crushing him.
“No, no, no,” I hissed under my breath, my silver eyes blazing, heart hammering.
My hands tremble as the magic surges hotter, more insistent, screaming at me to act, but I cling to control.
“Tell me where my granddaughter is hiding, and I might make this quick for all of you,” her voice echoes, and my stomach turns.
I clutch the dagger until my knuckles burn, blood slick and warm between my fingers, and pour every ounce of myself into the gods, pleading for them to make this work. They are silent, deaf to my desperation, and my lungs tighten as I see him—Darian—forcing Ronan to his knees and wrapping a tendril around his neck. Panic rises through me as he raises the sword above him.
Please no. Not Ronan. Not any of them.
He’s about to kill someone he loves, and even if I manage to save him, he will never come back from that.
The sky lashes out, rain turning to hail that pelts my skin, each shard a sting of hopelessness. My vision blurs with tears as I watch them being ground down, one by one, but then—I feel it.
The bond with Xarothar awakens, fierce and alive, a powerful tide of energy surging through me, brighter and hotter than ever. It isn’t just magic—it’s our connection, harmonising through the chaos.
His roar tears through the woods, shaking the very ground beneath us, drawing every eye upward—even Vesperas.
Xarothar.
He’s descending from the stormed sky, a force of raw power, every inch of him radiating strength and change I never thought possible.
Xarothar is enormous now—bigger than I ever imagined, a force of nature incarnate. Each spike along his head and down his spine catches the dim light from the moon, jagged and deadly, extending all the way to the tip of his tail. Relief and awe flood through me—I can’t believe he’s really here.
“You came.”
“For you, always,”he growls in my mind, that unshakable, fearless edge I know so well, protective but untamed. He rears his head back and roars, a sound that shatters the silence and shakes the trees, knocking some of the men off their feet.
“Save them,”I pleaded.
