He watches her approach, his expression unreadable, though something in him has already changed. He does not flinch when she lifts her hand.
“Try not to regret this,” he mutters, a scowl still lifting his mouth.
“I have the power to do it again so don’t piss me off,” Lara replies, but she doesn’t mean it.
He shakes his head, throwing his arms in exasperation, and Lara can’t help it—she smirks.
She directs her magic to his forehead. For a moment, nothing happens. Then—everything does.
Vren inhales sharply, his body locking as the magic takes hold. His head tips back, eyes squeezing shut as something vast moves beneath his skin, pushing against the limits of what he has been forced to remain.
“I remember,” he says, the words tearing loose. “I remember what it feels like?—”
Lara steps back.
The magic completes.
The bindings unravel.
Lara drags her gaze across the group. “Find a witch. Take to the skies.” Her voice is cutting, commanding.
Every bit the High Witch of The Dreaded. The Keeper of The Harrows. The Ruler of The Perils.
“Do not stop,” she continues, her tone sharpening. “Do not falter. You burn every soldier, every weapon, every trace of the north from this battlefield.”
The Melders look to Vren, seeking approval.
“Go!” he shouts, and they do not hesitate, no sign of the languidity that ailed them only moments ago.
Lara’s gaze lands on Vren. Her enemy that doesn’t feel like her enemy. He stares back at her, deep-brown eyes and a narrowed brow locked on her.
“This isn’t forgiveness,” he grits out. “You culled my bloodline.”
Lara shrugs.
“Elyssara’s family hunted mine.”
Vren stares at her for a moment, chest rising and falling too fast.
“That doesn’t sound like an apology.”
Fucking insufferable Melders.
Lara rolls her eyes, frustration blooming in her chest.
Skyfire lands in the distance, shuddering the earth beneath her feet.
“Are we going to stand here arguing over a weak apology whilst Skyfire rains down on us, or can we just fucking move on and take to the skies?” she hisses.
He grunts in irritation.
“Just say sorry, witch,” he snarls.
Lara doesn’t move, but her eyes narrow.
She pauses for a heartbeat.
Then, finally, “No. But I will offer a truce.”
