Vaguely, I became aware of Casteel and Kieran, their eyes wide and their awe bubbling in my throat and against my skin.
Thick, shadow-filled clouds appeared. Wind whipped, blowing my hair back and tugging at my torn clothing. And the wind, it smelled of fresh lilacs.
And then the very air itself split open, spitting crackling light as a thick, white mist seeped out of the tear, spilling over me, over the ruined ground to blanket the bodies.
A great, black-and-gray shape several times larger than Setti flew out of the chasm in the air, its wings so massive that they momentarily blocked the rising moon. Another deafening roar tore through the air as the draken glided over the Temple, opening its powerful jaws. A stream of intense, silvery fire erupted, spinning into a funnel that slammed into the creatures climbing the Rise.
“Nektas,” Casteel rasped.
My entire being focused on Isbeth. She stood behind the altar, almost transfixed. And the endless fury I felt from her joined mine.
Her.
Seraphena.
The true Primal of Life.
The one I’d gotten the gift of life and healing from. Not Nyktos. His gift was the shadows in my skin, the death in my touch, and the coldness in my chest.
My will swept out from me, rushing over the Bone Temple and the grounds below and beyond. I took a step, and I did so as something infinite. Something Primal.
Power drenched the air as the aura receded just enough for me to see that the luminous sheen had settled and turned to a pearlescent, silvery, and shadowy glow. With each footstep, the stone trembled and cracked, and the mist followed me, settling over the bodies and cradling them.
I walked forward, feet bare to the blood, the shattered shields, and the broken swords. And then I glided, lifting from the ground. The battered bodies of soldiers, wolven, and draken—of my friends and those I cared for—rose along with me. Delano. Naill. Emil. Hisa—
“It’s too soon,” Isbeth shrieked, and her fear—her terror—was just as strong as her grief had been, raining bitter ice upon me. She stumbled over the body of a dakkai and pressed against the altar Malec lay upon. “What did you do?”
I felt myself rise as Reaver’s and Malik’s bodies drifted from the pools of blood, my head kicking back. And then, everything stopped. The wind. The moans. My heart. The only movement was that of Nektas as he flew down the length of the Rise, leaving a wave of essence-fueled fire in his wake. My fingers splayed out at my sides.
I gave sound to my rage. To hers. The scream that ripped from my throat wasn’t just mine. It was ours.
The sound hit the air like a shockwave, shattering stone and toppling the newly rooted blood trees. Casteel turned, attempting to shield Kieran, but there was no need. They wouldn’t be harmed as my fury rippled above us, tearing the sky open. The rain came, blood-red and drenching.
And final.
Millicent slowly sat up, her pale eyes going wide as a dakkai raced from the smoke—two and then four and five, their claws kicking up chunks of stone. My head snapped in their direction, and that was it. The dakkais simply disappeared mid-run or leap, obliterated with just a look. Nothing was left of them. Not even ash as the wave of energy spread out, catching the remaining dakkais and the Revenants, turning them to dust.
The blood rain stopped, and not a single drop touched me as I turned my attention back to Isbeth.
“You.” The one word dripped so much power, so much barely leashed violence, that a cold shiver even ran down my spine. Because that was me…and it was also Seraphena. Her essence—her consciousness—moved inside me.
“It’s too late,” Isbeth said. And I sensed that it both was and wasn’t. She dragged her arm over her bloodied face. “It has already been done.”
“She knew what you plotted,” I told her. “She saw it in her sleep. Saw it all.”
Isbeth’s terror choked me as she shook her head. “Then she has to know I did it for Malec. It was all for her son and her grandson that they took from me!”
“It was all for nothing.” I lifted my hand, and Isbeth’s body went rigid, her mouth open but issuing no sound. No words. Nothing. The clouds thickened even more as she rose, suspended several feet above the ground. “It was love that made you. She would’ve forgiven Malec for what he did by making you. But your hatred? Your grief? Your thirst for vengeance? It has rotted your mind more than the blood of a god could have ever done. What you have become—what you have brought upon the realms—will not save you.”
Isbeth’s right arm jerked backward. The crack of bone was loud, and the flare of pain I felt was red-hot.