The first scream wasn’t human. It ripped through the cavern like a jagged blade, making the stone walls tremble, the iron shackles around my wrists searing against my skin with a heat that was anything but natural. The air grew heavy, tasting of iron and ash, like the void itself had crawled into the mountain to breathe down my neck. Kael snarled—a low, primal sound that vibrated through the ground beneath me. When I looked at him, there was no trace of the man who used to smile like the sun. This was Kael unchained, every shred of his control burned away. His claws tore furrows into the earth as his body swelled with shadow and fury, molten gold and ink-black veins rippling across his skin. His eyes… gods, his eyes weren’t even eyes anymore. They were two suns gone supernova, blazing with a rage that had no mercy. And all of it—for me. “Stay—back,” I choked, the words tasting like blood. I didn’t even know who I was warning. Kael, who looked seconds away from tearing through eve
Kael’s hand gripped my arm like iron, but it wasn’t strength that froze me—it was the look in his eyes. That mix of fear and resolve I’d only ever seen once before, the night he swore he’d kill me if the stars ever claimed me completely. And now, I wasn’t sure which side of that line I stood on. “Kael,” I rasped, my voice splintering like glass. “Let go.” “No.” His answer came fast, sharp. Like a blade. “Not this time.” The ground trembled again, and the breach behind me pulsed like a second heartbeat—louder, faster, feeding on every breath I took. My magic surged in response, a tidal wave of light and darkness crashing inside me. I could barely hear my own thoughts over the roar of the realms splitting apart. I didn’t need to look to know what was coming. I could feel it crawling through the cracks: Nytherion’s hunger. Ancient and endless. Kael’s grip tightened. “You’re burning up,” he muttered, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist—finding the pulse that wasn’t entir
The breach wasn’t a wound. It was a mouth. And it was hungry. By the time Kael and I reached the outer wall, the world had already begun to unravel. Soldiers lined the ramparts with drawn blades and drawn faces, staring out at the horizon where the fabric of reality pulsed and tore like wet silk. It didn’t glow—not like the stories said it would. There was no holy light, no divine warning. Just a rip of blackness stretching across the snow like spilled ink, veins of silver spiderwebbing from its core. The edges bled shadow into the air, curling like smoke, and the ground around it buckled as if the earth itself was trying to recoil. And gods help me… it whispered. Not in words I could name, but in a rhythm older than time, a language that beat against my bones like a second pulse. Kael’s hand found my back as we stepped onto the frost-bitten parapet. His touch was steady. I wasn’t. “Report,” he barked at the nearest officer. The soldier—barely more than a boy, with i
Snow still clung to my hair like shards of glass. The Frostlands were behind us—burned, shattered, fractured—but their echo lingered in my bones. My boots crunched against the blackened ice as we climbed higher into the Spine, away from the carnage, away from the whispers. Away from the bodies I had left behind. I could still taste starlight on my tongue, metallic and sweet, sharp enough to cut through the numbness in my chest. That was the worst part—the numbness. Not grief, not rage. Just a hollow, endless quiet inside me that pulsed like a second heartbeat. Kael walked beside me, silent. He hadn’t let go of my hand since we left the battlefield. Not once. His palm was warm, grounding me against the storm raging beneath my skin, but even his touch couldn’t quiet the question thrumming in my skull. What am I becoming? The air grew colder the higher we climbed, but I didn’t shiver. I couldn’t. The starlight that had rewired me burned too hot for winter to touch me anymore.
I didn’t sleep. Not because I didn’t want to—because I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the breach. The shimmer of silver and black swallowing the world. And behind it, a whisper like a blade being drawn, promising, You will open the way. When dawn bled across the keep’s stones, I was already dressed, boots laced, hair tied back in a knot tight enough to hurt. Pain made me feel real. Human. The corridors hummed with activity as I made my way to the war hall. Soldiers clanked past in worn armor, faces grim. No laughter. No light. Just the weight of what was coming. Inside the war hall, maps littered the table, glowing runes marking active breach sites. Too many. The shimmer I’d seen to the north wasn’t alone—five more had opened overnight. Kael was there already, arms braced on the table. When he looked up, something passed through his face—relief, anger, something in between—but it was gone before I could name it. “Morning,” I said, voice flat. “Is it?” he muttered,
The silence after a battle is always wrong. It isn’t peace—it’s absence. Like the world forgot what sound is supposed to be. That’s how it felt in the council chamber. The breach was gone, the wall repaired as if nothing had happened, but the air still tasted scorched, metallic. My skin hummed with the power I’d just unleashed. Not my power—ours. Kael was still staring at me like he didn’t recognize what he was looking at. His sword hung loose at his side. I forced myself to meet his eyes. “You’re welcome.” It was a joke that landed like a stone in water. Councilor Sera stepped forward, her voice sharp. “You turned the tide. Without you, we’d all be—” “Dead,” Ryn finished, but the word was not gratitude. It was accusation. His gaze pinned me as if the breach hadn’t been the only enemy in the room. “And at what cost?” I opened my mouth, but Nytherion’s voice curved through my thoughts like smoke. Say nothing. They wouldn’t understand. For once, I didn’t need the warning. “I did