The trees that are already on fire explode outward, showering the soldiers with flaming debris. Men scream as burning branches pierce their armor, as flaming leaves catch in their hair and clothing. The attack costs Briargrave—I can feel it in the way the earth shudders beneath my feet—but it costs the Consortium more.
A dozen soldiers fall in that single moment. The rest retreat, regrouping, and for a breath I think we’ve won.
Then the Severance Engine activates.
The keening sound I heard before intensifies—becomes a scream that drives needles into my skull. I stagger, hands going to my ears, and beside me Tharos drops to his knees.
“Tharos!”
He’s shaking. His scars have split. His eyes are wide, staring at nothing, and his mouth is open in a silent scream.
“No—hold on—” I grab him, try to pull him up, but he’s rigid. Frozen.
THIRTY-THREE
XELA
The Severance Engine’s runes are blazing now, green light cutting through the gray dawn like diseased sunlight. The soldiers who fell back are advancing again, confident now, knowing their weapon is working.
“You have to fight it!” I shake him, desperate. “Whatever that thing is doing—you have to resist!”
His eyes focus. Find mine. And I see the pain there—a pain deeper than anything physical, the agony of a man being ripped away from everything that defines him.
Through the smoke and confusion I catch a glimpse of the man at the weapon’s controls—Vorn, the name from the silver-haired woman’s final words—hands moving across the rune-panels with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this before.
“It’s... pulling... at the binding...” His voice is a rasp. “Trying to... sever...”
“Then don’t let it!”
“I can’t—not from here—” He shudders, and his scars burn. “Need to... reach the Heartgrove. Draw power... directly from the King.”
“That’s suicide! You said the King?—”
“Is the only thing... strong enough... to counter that weapon.” He grabs my arms, fingers digging in hard. “I have to try. If it reaches... the grove while I’m like this...”
“Then we both go.”
“No.” He shakes his head, forces himself to his feet. The effort costs him—I can see it in the way his muscles tremble, the way his breath comes in ragged gasps. “Someone has to... slow them down. Buy me time.”
“I’m not letting you face that thing alone!”
“You’re not letting me do anything.” His voice steadies, finds steel beneath the pain. “I’m choosing this. The same way I chose to bind myself to this forest. The same way I chose you.” His hand finds my face, cups my cheek. “If there’s even a chance of stopping them—I have to take it.”
“And what about me? What am I supposed to do while you’re playing hero?”
“What you do best.” Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the army advancing behind us—he almost smiles. “Fight. Survive. Make them regret every step they take toward the grove.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “You’re the most dangerous thing in this forest besides me. Use that.”
I want to argue. Want to scream at him that this is stupid, that we should face this together, that I didn’t survive this long just to watch him sacrifice himself for a forest that’s been draining him year after year.
But I see the truth in his eyes. He’s not asking permission. He’s already made his choice.
And he needs me to make mine.
“You come back.” I grab his face, force him to look at me. “You hear me? You go to that grove, you do whatever you need to do, but you return to me. Don’t make me hunt you down.”
“I’ll come back.” He covers my hands with his. “I promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
