I want to tell him I don’t need him, that I can’t do this, but the words die on my tongue. He steps closer, his hand brushing mine, and the weave flares so brightly it’s blinding. Our magic collides again, but this time, it doesn’t feel like chaos. It feels like control.
We unleash a final wave of power, fire and shadowentwined in a devastating storm that crashes against the outpost’s walls. The warlocks retreat, their formation breaking as the gate shudders under the force of our magic. Stone and wood crumble to the ground, sending a plume of dust into the air as the tattered flags that remain flap uselessly in the breeze.
Silence remains and the battlefield is still, the weight of our destruction hanging heavy in the air. My chest heaves, my hands trembling from the surge of power we just unleashed. The scent of scorched earth and charred wood fills my lungs, mingling with the acrid tang of blood and ash.
The outpost’s defenses lie in ruins—its imposing walls fractured, its towers in disarray. The surviving warlocks scatter into the shadows, their retreating figures swallowed by the smoke and fog. Kade’s lips twitch in a ghost of a smirk, but the weariness in his expression dims any triumph. He steps back, and the loss of his proximity feels colder than I’d like to admit.
“Some welcoming party,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
“Those cunts should have known better than to test me,” he hisses, scanning the wreckage.
“Perhaps they thought you were here to kill them?” I mumble, remembering that Kade’s arrival announces death and destruction on a monumental scale.
Kade chuckles darkly, the sound low and humorless.
“Well, they weren’t entirely wrong, were they?” His gaze flicks to me, sharp and unreadable. “But I don’t recall you caring about whether they lived or died either, kitten.”
His words hang in the air, sharp and cutting, as if daring me to deny it. I want to—Gods, I want to—but the truth digs too deep. I didn’t care. Not about the warlocks, not about the ruins we’ve left behind. My focus was survival, destruction, and my heavy silence says more than words ever could.
“Thought so,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that sendsan unwanted shiver down my spine. “We’re not so different after all.”
I want to argue. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that we’re nothing alike. But the turmoil in his eyes mirrors something in me I’m not ready to face, so I do the only thing I can and bite my lip nervously.
“Well,” he says, “now we’ve messed up our welcoming party, let’s skip any more formalities and find Malric. Let’s see if he’s as eager to meet us as the rest of Varric’s Hollow appears to be.”
