Sylthris’s smile widened, a predatory gleam in her swirling eyes. She took a step closer, and Aric fought the urge to retreat.
“Oh, little mage,” she purred, “you ask such delightful questions.” Her gaze swept over him, assessing. “The fate of House Ixion has not been carved in stone just yet. I’m curious to see just how far our dear Malekith will fall . . . or rise.”
A chill ran down Aric’s spine. There was something in her tone, a hint of secret knowledge that left him deeply unsettled. He searched her face, trying to decipher the hidden meanings behind her words.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, hating the tremor in his voice. “What do you mean, fall or rise?”
Sylthris laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She leaned in close, her breath ghosting across his cheek. “The game is far from over, and you, my dear, are a most intriguing piece on the board.”
Aric’s mind raced, trying to make sense of her cryptic words. There were layers upon layers of meaning, hinting at machinations far beyond his understanding. He thought of Malekith, of the sacrifice he had made. Was there more to it than he realized?
“I don’t understand,” he said, frustration coloring his tone.
“Of course you don’t,” Sylthris replied, her voice dripping with condescension. “But you will, in time. Now run along, little mage. Your freedom awaits.”
She gestured once more towards the tunnel, her eyes never leaving his face. Aric hesitated, torn between the desperate need to escape and the nagging feeling that he was missing something crucial.
“Go,” Sylthris said, her voice suddenly sharp. “Before I change my mind.”
Aric took a step towards the tunnel, then paused, looking back at the enigmatic demoness. “If I leave,” he said slowly, “what happens to Malekith?”
Sylthris’s smile was razor-sharp. “That, my dear, depends entirely on you.”
Aric turned to flee, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desperate hope. But before he could take more than a step, Sylthris struck. Her hand, wreathed in shadowy energy, lashed out with inhuman speed. Pain exploded across Aric’s back as her fingers tore through his flesh, ripping apart the sigil Malekith had placed there.
A scream tore from Aric’s throat, raw and agonized. He stumbled forward as waves of agony crashed over him. The sigil, that intimate connection to Malekith, shattered under Sylthris’s assault. It felt as if a part of his very soul had been ripped away.
Gasping for breath, Aric forced his legs to move. Each step sent fresh bolts of pain lancing through his body, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. Sylthris’s mocking laughter slithered around him like a bitter wind, following him as he ran.
“Run, little mage!” she called, words drenched with cruel amusement. “Run and see how far you get without your demon prince’s protection!”
Aric gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder. Blood soaked the back of his shirt, hot and sticky against his skin. The sigil—Aric was certain she’d shredded it, though how badly, he couldn’t know without stopping to examine it. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. He had to keep moving, had to escape before Sylthris decided to do more than just toy with him.
The tunnel stretched before him, and Aric plunged into its depths, Sylthris’s laughter fading behind him. He ran, each breath a ragged gasp, each step a battle against the pain threatening to overwhelm him.
Aric burst from the tunnel’s mouth, gasping for air. The cool night breeze hit his face, a stark contrast to the stifling darkness he’d left behind. He stumbled, nearly falling as his feet hit uneven ground. His back throbbed, a constant reminder of Sylthris’s parting gift.
For a moment, he simply stood there, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The outskirts of Drindal sprawled before him, a chaotic tapestry of fire and shadow. The town he’d once known as a peaceful retreat now writhed under demonic occupation, its very essence twisted and corrupted.
Aric’s eyes darted across the landscape, desperately searching for any sign of Malekith. A flash of familiar magic, a glimpse of that proud silhouette—anything to tell him Malekith had survived. But all he saw was destruction. Plumes of smoke rose into the night sky, punctuated by the occasional burst of magical energy. Shouts and screams carried on the wind, a dirge of fear and confusion.
His heart ached, a pain deeper than the physical wounds he bore. Malekith had sacrificed everything for him, and now . . . now Aric didn’t even know if he was alive.
He took a step forward, then stopped. Every instinct screamed at him to go back, to search for Malekith among the chaos. But he knew it would be suicide. Without the sigil’s protection, he was vulnerable. And if Malekith had truly given everything to ensure his escape, returning would make that sacrifice meaningless.
Aric’s fists clenched at his sides, golden fire flickering weakly around his fingers. He was exhausted, in pain, and utterly alone. But he was free. And with that freedom came a responsibility—to warn his people, to use what he’d learned to turn the tide of this endless war.
With a final, longing look at the burning town behind him, Aric turned away. His steps were unsteady at first, but grew more determined with each passing moment. He set his sights on the distant horizon, where he knew the human lands lay waiting.
Aric trudged onward, fighting exhaustion and pain. The familiar rolling hills of his homeland stretched before him, bathed in the soft light of dawn. He should have felt relief, joy even, at the sight. Instead, a heavy weight settled in his chest, a mixture of dread and longing that threatened to overwhelm him.
His mind raced, filled with the urgent need to warn the human leaders about the magical anomaly threatening both realms. The knowledge burned within him, yet even as he pushed himself forward, driven by this vital mission, doubt gnawed at him.
The spires of Astaria rose in the distance, a beacon of civilization amidst the war-torn landscape. Aric’s heart clenched at the sight. Once, he had dreamed of returning home a hero, his research into demonic magic the key to ending the endless conflict. Now, he knew he would be lucky to make it past the city gates alive.
The Pureblade Order had condemned him to death for his pursuit of forbidden knowledge. His recent actions – consorting with demons, aiding in their invasion plans, however unwillingly – would only cement his status as a traitor in their eyes. Aric could almost hear Lord Inquisitor Cyrus Revenant’s voice, cold and unforgiving, pronouncing his sentence.
As he crested a hill, the full expanse of his homeland spread out before him. Fields of golden wheat swayed in the breeze, interspersed with dense copses of oak and elm. In the distance, the glittering ribbon of the River Seren wound its way through the countryside. It was achingly beautiful, a sight he had longed for during his captivity.
Yet now, as Aric gazed upon it, he felt like a stranger in his own land. The months spent in the demon realm had changed him, marked him in ways that went beyond the physical. He thought of Malekith, of the complex bond they had forged, and his heart ached anew. How could he explain to his people the shades of gray he had discovered in a world they saw only in black and white?
Aric sank to his knees in the soft grass, the weight of everything that had happened finally crashing down upon him. In the quiet of the night, away from the chaos and danger, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and bitter, as he mourned for Malekith, for the life he’d left behind, and for the uncertain future that lay ahead.
He wept for the demon prince who had sacrificed everything for him, whose fate remained unknown. He cried for the love still smoldering in his breast, a connection that defied the boundaries between their two worlds. And he grieved for the innocence he had lost, for the naive beliefs that had been shattered by the harsh realities of war and politics.
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and gold, Aric wiped away his tears with trembling hands. He took a deep, shuddering breath, willing himself to find strength in the new day. The time for mourning was over. He had a mission to complete, a warning to deliver that could mean the difference between salvation and destruction for both realms.
Sundered by Fate
Shadowbound, Book Three
Aric and Malekith’s story continues in
Sundered by Fate
Coming October 15, 2024
