Semua Bab The magic within : Bab 11 - Bab 20

The sky behind Killian churned orange, black smoke trailing upward like a signal fire to the gods. If the guild was still standing, it wouldn’t be for long.Varrow’s smile was too calm. “Two heirs. One pass. I should thank you for saving me the trouble of hunting you down separately.”Daryl stepped forward before Killian could speak. “You said you wanted them alive.”Them.Killian felt his shadows tense at the choice of word.Varrow tilted his head, as if Daryl were a particularly curious specimen. “You’ve done well, cousin.”Cousin.The word snapped in Killian’s mind like a trap. “What game are you playing, Daryl?”Daryl didn’t look at him. “Survival.”The Bloodforged flanking Varrow moved in perfect sync — tall, skin stretched taut over leather-bound muscle, claws silver-tipped. One still wore the shredded remnants of Warden armor; the other had the mask of a priest fused into its face. Their veins pulsed brighter the closer they came.Killian dropped low, shadows coiling

Harlow’s body collapsed into the snow-slicked stone, the broken saber clattering beside her.Killian froze. His instincts screamed to move, to strike, but his mind refused to process what he was seeing — two Daryls standing on either side of her, one still holding the blood-dripping blade.The killer smiled with Daryl’s mouth.“Interesting,” it said, voice almost right. Too smooth. Too measured.The other Daryl — the one who had freed him from the Bloodforged earlier — stepped between Killian and the impostor. His blades came up in a guarded stance.“Bloodshaped,” he said. “Varrow’s trick.”The impostor tilted its head like a predator studying prey. “Not a trick. A refinement. You’re good, Daryl, but you’ve always been predictable. I’m what you could have been without the dead weight of loyalty.”“Loyalty,” the real Daryl spat, “is what’s kept me alive.”The two moved at the same time.Steel met steel with a shriek that set Killian’s teeth on edge. Their styles were identical

The talisman’s burn in Killian’s chest had dulled to a steady, searing throb — like someone had nailed a star into his ribs.Every beat of his heart sent waves of heat crawling down his arms, bleeding into his fingers until they tingled.The shadows inside him pressed against the invisible walls the magic had thrown up, like wolves clawing to get out.The stairwell was choked with smoke from the dying Bloodforged.Somewhere up the steps, the clash of steel and shouts of the guild fighters drifted closer — but not close enough.Not yet.Varrow stood before the vault like a priest before an altar, his hand trailing the blackstone’s slick surface.The door’s pulse matched his own heartbeat, and Killian couldn’t tell if the magic was syncing with him or the other way around.The First Vael’s voice rolled from the stone — not loud, but deep enough to make the marrow in Killian’s bones hum.“I can smell your indecision, Killian. You want Varrow dead. You want Daryl’s truth. And you

The moment the First’s voice hit Now, the shadows inside Killian erupted.They didn’t pour from him — they detonated.The air snapped cold, every torch along the wall sputtering, their flames bending away from him like prey from a predator.The tendrils that lashed out were not neat streams of darkness — they were jagged, tearing at the air, clawing toward anything warm-blooded.Varrow lunged for the gap in the vault door again, but Killian’s shadows slammed into him, twisting around his arms and yanking him backward into the fissured floor.The crack belched another plume of black fire, singeing the edge of his coat.Daryl didn’t waste the opening — he spun and drove his blade at Varrow’s ribs.Varrow caught the blade between his palms, the steel hissing as shadow-magic scorched along the metal, forcing Daryl to release it or lose his hands.The weapon clattered away, sliding into the darkness pooling on the floor.From the stairs, Harlow gave a sharp, wordless cry — and the

The vault’s heartbeat was all Killian could hear.It wasn’t just a sound now — it was inside him, deep enough that his own pulse tried to match it.The barbed spears of shadow hung in the air around him, trembling like predators holding just long enough for the kill order.One spear was aimed dead at Daryl’s chest.Not him. Not him.The thought was sharp, urgent.But the shadows pulsed back with the First’s will, not his.Killian tried to move them — to shift the aim just a hair toward Varrow or the vault door — but the shadows resisted.Every inch felt like dragging a chain through molten iron.Daryl saw it.His stance changed — not defensive, but accepting.His mouth formed a word Killian couldn’t hear over the vault’s hum, but he read it anyway: Do it.No.The voice was in him and around him all at once.“The blood of your kin is a key. Spill it, and I open everything for you.”His skin prickled under his coat. The tendrils wrapped higher, over his ribs, coiling alon