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Aether wraps around me. Just in time before Father’s attack reaches me.
Shadows slam into my glittering shield. The surface flickers as it withstands the force of the blow. Though he is a shell of his former self, Father’s strength is as tremendous as always.
The dark magic gnaws on my shield. I clench my jaw, holding the aether in place as best I can. Willing it not to be corrupted.
Sweat beads on my forehead as I fight the shadows. I begin to fear that my shield isn’t powerful enough to stop the attack from reaching me. But then the shadows dissipate into sooty clouds.
I let my shield collapse around me and suck in a shaky breath. Though I’ve sworn so many times to free Father from Arluin’s shackles, I now fear I lack the power to defeat him. And the strength of will to cut down my father. Even if he is a wight.
I am the most awful mage Nolderan has ever known. My Mage Trials were supposed to prove I possess the strength of heart, mind, and magic that is necessary of a mage. Yet I am weak, cowardly, and stupid enough to allow the man I once loved to destroy everything.
And maybe the fact that I refuse to admit certain defeat makes me even more stupid.
Though my last spell left me fatigued, Father appears entirely unaffected by his. More shadows whir in his hands. His attacks are unrelenting.
“Nozarat.”
His dark magic forms a phantom blade, and he launches it at me.
I must turn my heart to ice. I must stop feeling. If I continue allowing myself to feel, there will be no chance of defeating Father. I must make my heart as cold and dead as Arluin’s, just for this one battle. This is why he summoned Father here. He knew my emotions would weaken me.
So, I force myself to stop feeling. I focus on the magic humming through my veins, through the crystalline staff. There is only aether, and nothing else.
“Laxus.”
My mind works faster than I can register my own thoughts. It’s as if the magic is controlling me, guiding me will. I’m not even sure whether I imagine the spot behind Father. But that’s where I end up.
My magic whispers to me, showing me which spell to cast next.
I slam the staff into the street. Aether shudders through the ground.
“Magmus!”
Stone turns to molten rock. A wave of lava hurdles toward Father.
“Ekrad,” he calls in that blood-curdling voice of his. The shadows wrap around him, protecting him from my attack.
Or at least, they try to.
The spell is more ferocious than I expect. I have surrendered myself to aether, and the Grandmage’s staff acts as my focus, bolstering my power to heights I have never dreamed of.
My father’s shield only withstands a fraction of my spell. He’s flung backward from the force and slams into the wall. The building shudders. I’m certain his bones rattle and break, but not even the slightest flinch of pain flickers across his face. He lies crumpled in a heap against the wall, his limbs twitching.
I briefly tear my attention from Father to see how my companions are faring.
Lhorok swings for Grizela with his lightning fueled axe, while the necromancer has conjured a dark, phantom sword and uses it to counter his attacks. Both are covered in blood.
Arluin and Natharius fight on, neither showing any sign of injury or exhaustion. While I’m relieved Natharius matches Arluin’s strength, I was hoping the Void Prince would prove far more powerful than him. Then again, Arluin is wielding the Amulet of the Kazhul, which houses a fragment of the lich’s soul. All I pray is that because Arluin himself is mortal, he will eventually tire whereas the Void Prince won’t.
I turn back to Father. He’s hauling himself back onto his feet. His shoulder sticks out at a horrible angle, the bone protruding through his tattered robes.
I know what I must do. And yet, as I stare at his mangled corpse, I fear I’m too cowardly to do it.
The shadowy orbs of his eyes meet mine. There’s nothing in his gaze except an insatiable hunger for the living. This isn’t my father. This is Arluin’s undead minion. And if he knew I’m allowing him to suffer this humiliation, he would never forgive me. I can’t allow his memory to keep being defiled like this. I must end it now.
He staggers upright, swaying in the breeze like the ghastly puppet he is. Though I attempted to banish all my emotions, they now crash into me like an all-consuming tidal wave. Yet I ground myself, refusing to be washed away.
I draw on aether, a tear tracing my cheek. I weave it into an inferno, grief blurring my eyes. Though my sight is hazy, there’s no mistaking the flames crackling and sparking in my hands. My breaths are shaky, but I hone my fury, my hatred, my anguish into a weapon. The flames intensify from my raging emotions, so wild and deadly they threaten to explode in my fingers.
