Now, Sovereign Zaxos’s eyes bored into Aric, a baleful stare that felt like it could strip the flesh from his bones. A shiver of pure, otherworldly power ran through him, and he fought the urge to take a step back. To run, though there was nowhere to go.

“The second trial,” Zaxos rumbled, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder presaging a storm, “will test your skill in the weaving and unravelling of spells. A fundamental ability for any mage who seeks to control the shifting tides of magic. But we will make it more... interesting.”

Aric’s mouth had gone dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He could do this. He had to. His only chance of survival lay in passing these trials, in proving himself to the demon court. He just had to focus, to block out everything else.

“You will be tasked with dispelling a powerful spell, one that threatens to unleash catastrophic damage. At the same time, you must maintain a protective ward around the human prisoners. Fail in either of these objectives, and the consequences will be severe.”

Zaxos’s lips curled into a smile that made Aric’s blood run cold.

“Behold. Your target.”

Aric’s eyes darted to the huddled group of human prisoners, their faces etched with fear and desperation. He could only imagine what horrors they had endured at the hands of the demons. If he failed, there was no question what their fate would be. The weight of their lives, and the lives of countless others like them, settled on his shoulders, threatening to crush him with its heft.

Aric nodded, his jaw clenched, and stepped forward, his boots ringing out on the obsidian floor. The demon guards ushered the prisoners into a circle around the designated spellcasting area, a massive stone dais crackling with dark energy. As Aric approached, he caught a brief flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to look.

Malekith was watching him, his expression flat. But his eyes, those endless pools of darkness, held a myriad of unspoken things. Concern. Anticipation. Aric’s hands were shaking, and he clenched them into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the enigmatic demon prince, not now. His focus had to be on the task at hand.

With a deep, bracing breath, Aric stepped up onto the dais.

Malekith’s fingers trailed over the metal cuffs binding Aric’s wrists to the stone dais, and with a surge of raw, aching power, they clicked open. Aric’s hands fell forward, the cold metal biting into his palms, and he drew in a shuddering breath as he stared down at the intricate sigils that snaked across the dais’s surface.

You can do this, he told himself, though he was far from certain. He had never attempted to unravel a demon spell of this magnitude, let alone while maintaining another working spell at the same time. But the lives of the human prisoners depended on him, and he would be damned if he didn’t at least try.

He closed his eyes, reaching out with his magic, feeling the familiar warmth of his golden fire intertwine with the raw power of the demon spell. The two energies circled each other warily, like predators sizing up their prey. With a mental command, he wove the first threads of his counter-spell, a delicate, intricate pattern that he guided with the lightest touch.

A protective ward, he thought, focusing on the image of the human prisoners and the shield of molten gold that would keep them safe.

The power surged through him, and he felt himself sinking into that meditative state, his mind and magic flowing as one. The threads of the spell wove through his thoughts, and he guided them carefully, coaxing them into the shapes he desired. The first layer of the ward began to take form, a shimmering veil of golden light that wrapped around the prisoners, and a relieved smile tugged at the corners of Aric’s mouth.

But there was no time to relax. He was only getting started. With the protective ward in place, he turned his focus to the demon spell, the one he was supposed to be unraveling. He wove a tendril of his magic into the first sigil and began to pick it apart, thread by thread.

The dais thrummed with power, the air crackling with energy, and Aric’s heart raced in time with the building storm of magic. He lost himself in the work, the outside world falling away as he focused all his will on the spells in front of him. The protective ward continued to grow, the shimmering light intensifying as he added layer upon layer of reinforcing magic.

But then he felt it, a ripple of wrongness coursing through the demonic spell. His eyes snapped open, and he caught a fleeting smirk on Lord Karthax’s brutal face. Panic surged through Aric as he realized what the demon lord had done. He’d sabotaged the spell, making it wildly unstable.

Aric’s breath caught in his throat as the magic threatened to spiral out of his control. The protective ward wavered and dimmed, the golden light flickering ominously. He couldn’t let the prisoners down. With a cry of effort, he poured more magic into the unraveling spell, trying to keep it from detonating.

But it was a losing battle. The demon magic was writhing in his hands, and it was determined to break free. The sigils on the dais flared with blinding light, and Aric’s world was consumed by a maelstrom of power.

“No, no, no,” Aric cried, his voice a desperate, keening wail as the demon spell threatened to unravel in his grasp. The spell shattered, shards of dark energy spraying out like shrapnel. The prisoners screamed, the protective ward wavering and dimming as Aric’s focus fractured.

He couldn’t fail. Not now. Not when their lives depended on him.

A tendril of the demon magic lashed out, a living, writhing thing, and Aric dove to the side to avoid it. The guards shouted, their weapons raised, but they held their ground, ready to intervene if Aric’s control slipped further. The demon lord Karthax was watching him, a cruel smile playing at the edges of his mottled, leathery face.

Aric’s hand brushed against the rune-covered stone that Malekith had given him, and a spark of inspiration ignited. With trembling fingers, he fumbled for the stone, its surface cool against his palm. The magic surged around him, the air heavy with power, but there was no time to hesitate. He had come too far to let the demon’s trap ensnare him now.

As he wove the stone into the intricate pattern of his counter-spell, he felt a rush of foreign yet familiar power. The stone glowed with an eerie light, and the air around him crackled with energy as the demon magic and his own twined together in a delicate dance. The ward around the prisoners shuddered and solidified, the golden light burning ever more brightly.

Magic surged through Aric, a raw, intoxicating force. For a moment, he was weightless, his spirit soaring on the flames of his golden fire. He was a being of pure magic, of raw power and endless possibility. The world around him was a canvas, and his magic was the brush, shaping and reshaping reality with every stroke.

He opened his eyes, and in that instant, he knew.

He had been holding back, trying to keep the human and demon magics separate, distinct. But that wasn’t how it worked. Not for him. The power was already there, burning in his veins, yearning to be set free.

With a fierce cry, Aric let go. He stopped trying to control the demon magic, to force it into submission. Instead, he embraced it, allowing it to flow through him, to merge with his own golden fire. The sensation was electrifying, terrifying, exhilarating all at once. He felt himself expanding, his magic reaching out in all directions, filling the space around him. He was a part of the magic, and the magic was a part of him.

The protective ward around the prisoners blazed with blinding light as Aric wove the human and demon magics together in an intricate dance. The unstable spell began to stabilize, its wild energy harnessed and redirected. The air shimmered with golden light shot through with threads of shadow, a visual representation of the unprecedented melding of magics.

Aric’s voice echoed in the chamber as he chanted the incantation, his words taking on a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence. The prisoners huddled together, their faces upturned, and Aric could see the glimmer of hope in their eyes. He would not fail them. He would not let the demon lord’s cruelty break his spirit.

The sigils on the dais cracked and shattered as the unraveled spell reached its climax, but Aric held firm. The demon magic writhed and lashed out, but he met it with a fierce, unyielding will. He felt the stone in his hand crumble to dust, its power spent, but it had served its purpose. He had harnessed the demon magic, made it his own.

And now, he would unmake it.

The spell’s final threads came apart with a deafening crack, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then the raw energy that had been building was released in a blinding wave of light. The wards around the prisoners flared, their protective shield holding strong.

With a final cry, Aric staggered back, his body drained of all strength. He collapsed to his knees as the light began to fade, leaving the chamber in a hazy, smoke-like glow. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and something darker, and Aric’s head swam with the aftereffects of the untarnished magic he had just wielded.

The world came back into focus, and with it, the hushed silence that had fallen over the chamber. Aric’s vision swam as he looked up, his body feeling impossibly heavy, but the sight that greeted him made his heart soar.

The human prisoners were staring at him in awe, tears glistening in their eyes as they basked in the golden light of the protective ward. The guards on the perimeter of the dais were shouting, their weapons raised, but the demon lord Karthax had a scowl darkening his leathery face. Vizra’s gaze was positively venomous as she bared her teeth in a silent snarl.

Sovereign Zaxos leaned forward on his obsidian throne, his stony features carved with an expression of keen interest. But it was Malekith’s eyes that Aric sought, that he could feel like a physical pull, drawing him in. The demon prince was staring at him, his dark eyes wide with wonder.

As their gazes locked, Aric’s heart swelled, and he felt an overwhelming rush of emotion threaten to consume him. In that brief, endless moment, it was just the two of them, the rest of the world falling away. The bond that stretched between them, taut and fragile, hummed with a newfound resonance, and Aric knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that they had both felt it.

The spell shattered.

Aric’s knees wobbled as he stepped out of the dais, the raw, aching force of the spell sapping the last reserves of his strength. His head swam, and the chamber spun around him as he tried to steady himself. He felt as if he were moving through water, every step an immense effort of will.

He didn’t realize he was falling until strong arms caught him, stopping his descent. He blinked up blearily, his vision swimming, and the world became a hazy blur of shadows. But as his eyes focused, he found himself staring into the dark, stormy gaze of the demon prince.

“Aric,” Malekith said, the words vibrating in Aric’s chest. “By the Abyss, are you all right?”

Aric’s name on Malekith’s lips was a balm, a soothing touch that cut through the haze in Aric’s mind. He tried to speak, to reassure Malekith that he was fine, but all that came out was a soft, pained whimper.

“Shh,” Malekith said. “You’ve done well, my star. Let me take care of you now.”

Strong arms lifted Aric’s limp body, and he was suddenly cradled against Malekith’s chest. Malekith’s embrace was a furnace, searing Aric’s chilled skin, and he nuzzled against the soft fabric of Malekith’s tunic, inhaling his scent. Smoke and spice, with an undertone of something sweeter, something that Aric could only describe as the essence of magic itself.

“You did it,” Malekith said, his voice a hushed prayer in the darkness. “You saved them.”

Aric’s eyes drifted closed, a sense of peace and contentment washing over him. He was safe. The prisoners were safe. And in this one, fragile moment, it was just him and Malekith, bound together in the darkness.

With effort, Aric pushed himself into a sitting position, his muscles aching and his head throbbing. He felt like he’d been trampled by a herd of aetherbeasts, the raw, unbridled power of the spell having taken a heavy toll on his body.

“Are you all right, my star?” Malekith’s voice was laced with concern as he helped Aric sit up. “You pushed yourself to the brink and beyond. I was . . . afraid for you.”