Nyxara Rising
Power, ancient and merciless, surged up her spine—violet light radiating from her skin, exploding outward to flatten enemies, shatter stone, and force the envoy to his knees, pride stripped away.
Kael moved like a nightmare given form, blade pressed to the envoy’s throat, voice low and lethal. “Say her name again. I dare you.”
Rowan didn’t move, but his gaze was glacial, voice like a blade of ice. “You hurt her. That was your last mistake.”
Nyxara stepped forward, pain ignored, hand settling over Kael’s wrist—anchoring him, their bond humming—Rowan’s palm steady at her back, a quiet anchor.