The night was a shroud,
heavy and suffocating,
as if the forest itself sought to choke me.
I ran until my lungs burned,
until the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth.
The Éther hummed in my veins,
a cruel reminder of what I'd done.
The Water Kingdom mage,
reduced to ashes.
Nyra, alive—
but staring at me like I was a monster.
A vision haunted me:
an obsidian throne,
blood dripping,
Nyra lifeless at its base.
Threshold had seared that image into my mind,
and I couldn't shake it.
"She is the price, Echo.
Choose, or I will."
I stopped,
leaning against a tree,
my arm throbbing where black lines writhed like snakes beneath my skin.
They stretched further now,
creeping to my shoulder,
each a mark of the bargain I hadn't meant to strike.
Lirien's amulet burned in my palm,
its runes flickering faintly in the moonlight.
It felt like an anchor—
a fragile thread
keeping me from the abyss
Threshold beckoned me toward.
A rustle behind me.
I turned.
Nyra stepped from the shadows,
her knife glinting like a fang in the dark.
Her gaze, sharp as a blade's edge,
pinned me in place.
"Don't do that again," she hissed,
voice rough as gravel.
"Run from me like I'm some frightened child.
What was that, Arion?
What are you?"
I didn't answer immediately.
My mind—
Kael's mind,
the strategist—
weighed every word,
every movement.
Nyra wasn't a friend.
Not yet.
Nor was she an enemy.
She was an enigma.
A potential ally.
Or a dagger in my back.
Just like him.
Just like the man who betrayed me in my past life.
"I'm nothing you need to fear,"
I said, my voice steady
despite the drumbeat in my chest.
"For now."
She stepped closer,
twirling her knife between her fingers.
"Don't lie to me.
I saw what you did.
That power…
it's not Fire,
not Water,
not Air,
not Earth.
It's…"
She hesitated,
the word searing her tongue.
"Éther."
The word hung like a death sentence.
I clenched my fists,
feeling the Éther stir.
A tingling urge to be unleashed.
But I couldn't.
Not again.
Not when each use drew me closer
to that voice,
that throne,
that blood.
"You don't know what you're talking about,"
I said, stepping back.
"Go back to the Crows, Nyra.
This isn't your fight."
She laughed—
a bitter, brittle sound.
"I'm not stupid, Arion.
The Crows aren't my family.
They're a cage.
And you…"
She pointed her knife at me,
eyes alight with defiance.
"You think Dren doesn't know?
He saw you.
We all did.
That purple flash in the sky.
The kingdoms will come for you.
And when they do,
the Crows will hand you over to save their skins."
Her words hit like a blade.
She was right.
The Éther wasn't a secret I could keep forever.
Not after what I'd done.
The flash,
the dead mage,
the explosion—
someone would come.
And Dren,
with his obsidian locket and predator's grin,
wasn't the type to risk his neck for a child.
"So, what do you want?"
I asked coldly.
"If you turn me in,
you'll gain nothing.
The kingdoms don't reward traitors."
Nyra let her knife fall to her side,
though her fingers still brushed its edge.
"I want to live,"
she whispered,
trembling,
but resolute.
"And you…
you're my best chance.
But if you lie to me again, Arion…
I swear,
I'll slit your throat
before the Éther claims you."
I said nothing.
In her gaze,
I saw it—
a desperation I knew too well.
We were alike.
Too alike.
But trust was a luxury
I couldn't afford.
Not anymore.
"Move," I said.
"The Crows are waiting."
---
The Ashen Crows' camp was silent when we returned.
Dren stood by the fire,
his obsidian locket gleaming
like a dark eye.
The others watched—
some with suspicion,
some with fear.
Nyra stayed close,
fingers drumming against her knife's hilt.
I didn't trust her.
But for now,
she was all I had.
"The artifact,"
Dren said.
"Give it to me."
I lowered my eyes.
It was gone.
Lost.
Or taken.
"We didn't get it,"
I said, bracing.
Dren rose slowly,
his shadow stretching across the firelight.
"You didn't get it,"
he repeated,
each word sharper than the last.
"And yet,
the sky blazed purple."
He stepped closer.
"I know what you are.
Heretic.
Éther-bearer.
And I know what the kingdoms will do
when they find you."
I could end him now.
Unleash the Éther.
But I was weak.
The others would finish me.
"You know nothing," I said.
"If you turn me in,
they'll kill you too—
for sheltering me."
Dren laughed.
"Shelter you?
No, child.
I'll use you."
He caressed his locket.
"For power.
For war.
Join me, Arion.
Serve the Crows,
and I'll teach you to control it.
Defy me…
and I'll feed you to the hunters."
Then—
a scream.
The earth shook.
A white light flooded the camp.
Weapons were drawn.
From the forest stepped a figure—
robed in white,
shimmering like ice.
Hands etched with glowing runes.
An Éther mage hunter.
I knew instantly.
"Tharion of the Water Kingdom,"
he said.
"Éther-bearers,
reveal yourselves,
or I will purify this place
with blood."
Nyra tensed.
Dren stepped back.
The mercenaries surrounded me,
but none dared move.
They knew what he was.
They knew there was no escape.
"Hand him over,"
Tharion demanded.
"The child.
His soul is tainted.
The Éther must be purged."
My heart pounded—
not with fear,
but with fury.
Lirien's face flashed in my mind.
The fire.
The screams.
The betrayal.
"I won't be a victim again,"
I whispered.
"Run."
Nyra didn't move.
Her eyes locked on Tharion—
not with fear,
but with hatred.
Tharion raised a hand.
Water surged—
hardening into crystal spikes.
Two mercenaries impaled,
dead before they hit the ground.
Nyra attacked,
wind slashing through the camp—
but it faltered.
Tharion's runes flared,
and Nyra collapsed,
pinned by invisible weight.
"Run, you idiot!"
she screamed,
shoving me back.
I stood my ground.
The Éther roared in my veins.
Blood dripped from my nose.
Pain blurred my vision.
I wouldn't let her die.
Not like Lirien.
"Use me,"
Threshold whispered.
"Save her,
and the power is yours.
But everything has a price."
The amulet flared—
as if trying to hold me back.
I remembered her voice—
"You are enough."
Threshold hissed:
"That trinket won't contain you forever, child."
I closed my eyes—
and let go.
The Éther surged.
Pain tore through me.
Veins blackened.
Blood burned.
A purple blast exploded—
shattering the spikes,
vaporizing Tharion
into ash.
The camp erupted.
Screams.
Fire.
Collapse.
I fell to my knees.
The amulet slipped from my hand,
its runes fading.
Nyra gasped beside me.
"Arion…"
Her voice cracked.
Threshold laughed.
A vision:
the obsidian throne.
Corpses.
A mercenary who gave me water.
His chest torn open.
And Lirien—
at the throne's base.
Her eyes empty.
Her hand still reaching for me.
"The price,"
Threshold said.
"There is always a price."
I stared at my bloodied hands.
Nyra approached.
Knife in hand.
Trembling.
"Tell me the truth,"
she said.
"Or I swear I'll end this now."
I said nothing.
The amulet lay in the dirt,
a faint spark flickering in its runes.
Threshold whispered one last time:
"A king doesn't ask permission.
A king takes."
As I met Nyra's gaze,
I knew—
The path to the throne
had grown bloodier.