Media above is the song 'Gloria Regali' by Tommee Profitt. Play it on repeat throughout the chapter if you can, it really sets the atmosphere.
I apologize for the (very) late update, but my wifi is down, which is in the way of my writing and my studies, too.
Enjoy!
FALLING REIGN
The world was so terribly silent.
So terribly still.
And it was Death prowling through the city, gliding over the red-washed capital, the emptiness and terror filling the air.
There was not a sound—not a breath—too loud as I soared above the sea, the setting sun swallowing the horizon, not a thing out of place.
A city of terror.
A night of horror.
Even the monsters lurking in their waters were calm, out of their usual paths, silent and unnoticed as they swam, feeding off the festering fear reeking out of the locked houses, of those hidden between their walls.
There was not a living being out—not even whispers carried by the winds. Only silence and fear.
I flew past the Beheaded, past the gnarling spot stained with blood that not even weeks of rain had been able to wash away. Blood—so much of it.
Mealin had been tortured there, shredded and dumped in and out of the salty waters by Rhiannon; Rhiannon who had taken her time with every lash, every beg, every scream of pain. Rhiannon who had repaid her father for all of it—for her mother. For her brother, who had been chained and tortured until he clawed at the threshold of life three years ago. For herself.
And then, Leon let all he'd locked within himself out.
Mealin's screams were heard far past the Wall shielding Evanor. All the way to the Sombers.
His head was still on the spike above the castle's gates. With Weyar Ohad's. Their bodies were dumped in the sea, along Yenes, along the remaining two other guards at their majesties' immediate service, along my very own spies.
The ones that had been here far before I arrived, the ones Téors had spoken about. Five men who had battled and bled together, five men who had decided to go down together when three of them were sentenced to death.
Dearcious had been butchering every single person for as much as breathing the wrong way, the Sombers filled with blood like never before.
They died there, all of them. Warriors who had become family, who had no one to go back to, who had no other desire than to set their lands free. To make them safe.
And so they fell, one after the other. At my hands. At my sword.
I had wanted it to be gentle—the Gods knew I did. Gentle and quick, like it had been for those before them. But there had been too many eyes, too many layers of magic to risk. So it had been a sword rising up and down, swift and silent.
They hadn't broken before the beheading. Hadn't cowered. They'd known who I was, from months back, and had welcomed their fate with pride.
Their names would not be forgotten.
Neither will Josa and Roga's, the last living spies I had. The ones who had worked silently, who had spread plenty of the runes and the spells Téors and Siltheres had given me. No one in my court knew their names, no one but father and Ramos, and even then…
They were called the Twin Devils, sorceresses who had given themselves for this cause decades ago, who still fought for it.
I soared above the castle, past the finials and the banners rattling with the winds, their swallowtails like hissing, serpentine tongues.
Everything was in place. Every kernel of magic, every dust of a spell perfectly placed, hidden and waiting.
Every member of my court was in position, minds tied to mine, all alert, all ready.
Night crawled at the edges of the cobblestone roads, curled in the dusty nooks, slowly spreading, the full dark minutes away.
A thin stretch of powers ran in the world. Heavy and dark, the gate flickered in a heartbeat, the mass of powers that had filled the towers behind me fading and stepping far, far away. Into the heart of the strath. The center of the ritual.
And so I waited, leaning against the rough stones of the belfry's column, taking Eziara in for a last time.
The sun at last fully vanished.
The dark that darted into the world was like nothing I'd yet seen or experienced. Thick, cold, deadly. As though it had crawled out of Apocalys's lungs, as though it was him swallowing every shred of light in the sky, every whisper of candlelight deep within the houses.
I tugged on the mental bridges once, a silent warning. They all tugged back as one in answer. As an oath. A promise.
I closed my eyes, the winds rising, growling, snarling as they lashed against my skin, face, uniform—their bitterness reaching my very bones.
The earth, the wind, the sea…the world hummed, an ancient, forgotten chant echoing in my head, my soul.
A wave of magic rattled the fabric of the universe, pulsing, thrumming, thundering—
A scream rang across the strath, across the continent between them and the castle, perhaps across the sea, too, straight to Vemor.
Lysithea was dead.
Everything churned then, every single lick of powers stretching throughout the continent twisted, converging toward Dearcious so far away. It seemed to suck the world, that magic building up at his orders. It drank and fed on everything, pulling the earth and water, claiming them.
Even from here, months of land-traveling, hours of restless soaring, I could see it, that pillar of magic darting into the sky. That vortex that could annihilate us within heartbeats.
I tugged again at our threads, turning to stare at the sea, the roads, the members of my court spread within the castle's grounds, monitoring every detail.
A breath of magic wrapped around those bridges, slowly snaking over them as I made to stare back at the column of magic that looked no thicker than a hair from here.
I counted every breath, every ticking second, every minute, waiting waiting waiting waiting—
Eight.
The magic shifted.
Still loud. Still dark. Still deadly, but…stable. Mending together, stitching the spell in place.
The awakening ritual started.
Dearcious was entirely focused on the magic, too deep into it to break the darkness shooting out of the very ground around him.
I leaped off the tower.
Dove straight toward the throne hall.
Shouted so loudly down our bridges I could feel my orders echoing in my bones.
'The sea. Now.'
For a moment none of them moved, for a moment they all stared at me, at the sea behind us, the departing path my magic whispered to their minds.
The sudden change of plan.
The Aubarios sang as I landed. Sang and cawed and crooned and called—
'NOW.'
And they did. Darted through the night to the boat already materializing—the charmed talisman Téors had given me in the empty jewel that had bled into my wrist back at the port in Cantelot.
Only Leon remained, silent as he slid into the hall, powers pulsing beneath his skin, ready to fight whatever would crawl out to attack us.
One stare—we shared one stare before I stepped toward the mass of darkness calling my name.
Calling calling calling.
Every bit of magic I had buried over the past months revved up, speared through every barrier, every layer.
Shot and soared and screeched in my bones. An answering roar.
They bled, the hollers of my powers and the Aubarios's. One song. One chant. One melody.
They pulled me past the thrones, they orchestrated every movement, every step, my body a marionette on a string.
The powers sang and sang and sang.
And I danced to their cold, brutal melody.
Approached the Dark on steady feet, bound to every thrum of strength in my blood. In my soul. Somewhere deeper than that.
Closer closer closer.
The call became urgent. Yearning. Begging.
Come come come come come.
And I did. Not a piece of me balking at the coldness radiating from it. At the covers melting away as the immaculate, lightless powers dripped to the ground, stretched toward me.
Powers forged in another realm. Another world, perhaps. Darker than anything the world knew. Wickeder.
Come come come come come…
Such a cruel sound. Such a feral strength.
And yet, the heart, beneath all this madness…
A light.
A faint, fading light.
Such a familiar, captivating strength.
Comecomecomecomecomecome—
It filled my head. My eyes. My lungs. My heart. It filled me whole, this darkness. It whispered. It called me. It begged.
Powers rattled beneath my skin, begging to be left out. To meet the Aubarios, its promising coldness. Begging to quench the heat, the rage.
The Aubarios called. I answered.
It wrapped me with its powers, pulled me into its folds.
I allowed it to carry me deeper, to guide my powers, to feel my magic.
Dark kissed light. Sound met silence. Past and present bled together.
The Aubarios seeped into me, darkness and night meeting in my blood.
Down. I was carried so down in this mass of magic.
Thoughts faded in my mind. Sounds and whispers vanished in my ears. All lights dimmed from my eyes.
And I remained, swallowed by that shred of Apocalys, that house of powers that hadn't faltered for eight thousand years.
It stripped me of any consciousness but that faint call in the back of my mind.
That urgent plea.
I ran toward it. Ran and ran and ran—
Take its heart and leave. Do not look back.
Why, Ha-ámej?
Take the heart and do not look back.
The heart—
The dungeons. The blood. The shining light at the end. The skeletal hand that had tried to pull me down in my last dream—
It didn't want to kill me. It wanted me to see.
A thin shred of immaculate darkness, far silkier than the Aubarios's, far darker…like that wisp in Ha-ámej's prison.
Death.
It was Death that wrapped the body basking in this darkness. It was Death—Ha-ámej's Death—that parted, that cleaved the Aubarios's powers, that handed me the strings.
The body not more than skin and bones drifted to my arms.
There was barely a shred of consciousness in those unfocused eyes. Barely a lick of life.
But those eyes. That face—
The hand that fell slack, the Mark on her palm—
I wasn't sure if Leon had been able to hear the scream that ripped my throat. Wasn't sure if I was breathing as Ha-ámej's thread of Death pushed me out of the Aubarios, the strings it had given me tightening tightening tightening as I snapped at those threads, at the magic around us.
It exploded, sending me flying out of its darkness, out of the realm it had created, out out out—
The body was still in my arms.
My mother was still in my arms.
Utterly unresponsive…but alive. Alive.
The darkness wailed, screamed, trashed, shrieked.
The hall trembled, the thrones collapsed to the ground—
Leon's powers and mine surged, mending together, shielding us from the magic that shredded the world around us.
Ha-ámej—it had been Ha-ámej's powers that had seeped into mine. That had needed me to erupt. A kindling flame. A trigger.
It sucked everything. Everything.
And Leon and I darted out of the hall, out before the ceiling crashed on our heads. Before the glass shattered and the room, the halls, the gates and the pillars cracked and darted toward that mass of power.
I ran. Ran like I never did, my mother still showing no traces that she was there and—
The throne hall erupted. Exploded.
And we jumped, magic propelling us halls and gardens away.
The hall fell. And every single alley tied to it, every single column crashed to the ground. The very heart of the castle in dust and smoke and debris.
It had been Ha-ámej's powers. Ha-ámej. He had guarded my mother. He destroyed the Aubarios that would've rendered us all ashes otherwise.
Ha-ámej. Ha-ámej—
The roaring of blood and magic in my ears was too loud. The haziness in my eyes was too thick.
We ran again, Leon hissing something I hadn't been able to decipher over the wailing of my powers crackling in my mind, freed of all the layers Sorcha had created at last.
The gate to the outside of the castle was merely a few minutes' run away, but…but—
Ha-ámej.
The castle still crumbling above our heads.
Him, alone in his dungeon, waiting for the end.
Ha-ámej—
Let me fade at your hands.
I saw dust and darkness. I breathed a scorching, bitter coldness.
I ran. Ran ran ran. My mother still in my arms, Leon sustaining her, his powers an unwavering shield next to mine.
The castle was still falling. A breath of power shattered all the tumbling rocks before they could crush us.
The exit was near.
I halted. Halted and turned toward that vortex of strength feeding off the world, looking almost as thick as the Gods' statues at the Eye.
Not nearly halfway done.
And my mother, that shift in my plan. And yet—
Do not go back.
I couldn't do it. Even if he faded on the boat, I couldn't leave him behind. Alone.
Do not go back. For no one.
I jumped through layers of the world, Leon at my heels, my mother now in his arms.
It was all crashing down. The might of the Eziaran castle erupting into dust and rubble.
Lower. Faster.
He was still there. Rested against a wall, his fog a mantel around him.
It flickered, steal grey curling out of his eyes as I grabbed him. Dragged him.
'I—'
He was shoved into Leon's arms before he could protest, before he could send us away.
Darkness curled around us, pulling us deeper into the world as the ceiling fell, metallic rods snapping, the bars shivering before fading. Night tendrils still swirled around Leon's feet, around my mother and Ha-ámej.
Leon's protest wasn't out of his throat yet as I leaned in, kissed him one last time. And pushed him away.
The three of them. Through the gate and to the boat. To that other battle so terribly far away.
The mental bridges snapped, all of them. And I didn't give myself time to process Leon's shocked face, the swirl of emotions.
And the Prince of Death's last whisper as he was shoved away echoed in every inch of me as I drifted back to the destroyed throne hall.
The Drahayá is the key.
The vortex neared its peak. Its full might.
It was only minutes away.
And the monsters carved into the walls of the throne hall had not shattered, had not fissured as I walked past them and straight to where the thrones had been.
They were nothing but a pile of grinded bones and rocks.
And I rested there, on the remnants of those glorious, winged seats. Rested, and waited.
Magic snaked beneath the surface of my skin, burning and crying, every shred begging to be released. To snap all the powers I'd planted throughout Eziara: land and skies and earths and seas. To destroy.
The mass of powers at Dearcious's command grew and grew, the skies caving toward it. Everything seemed to cave toward it, as though the world was shredding and melting and stitching as it poured into the vortex. This was the sort of magic needed to awaken Apocalys; only a shred of him.
A power that could rattle the world. And yet…
Make the world bow.
I would.
All of them—they would bow. They would beg. And then they would die. It had been the plan from the very start.
For a fraction of it, the one I had built with my court was true. But I would've been a glorious fool to ever go down that first path, not after Mealin and Mar and Apocalys who had seen and heard and learned what we were planning. Not after the shift of powers in the air the past three weeks, the movement of the beasts, the winds and storms. I would have sent us to our very doom.
And so Leon and I had worked behind the others backs, and I had worked behind his. All of them out, all of them in the middle of the ocean on a safer fight. On one I knew they could and would win.
It was bound for me to stay alone at the end of it. I wouldn't have agreed to anything else otherwise if it compromised their safety. Ha-ámej's rescue was planned, too, albeit in another way. For all he'd done, for all that I did and did not know.
It didn't matter, being left alone here where all existence was a breath away from collapsing. It would never matter, as long as I knew they would make it out of this night alive.
A cold, night-filled wind brushed my skin, danced through my hair, roared in my ears. Head tipped back, I stared at the clouds barely visible in the sky, not more than shadows in all this darkness. There was no moon tonight, no stares, no light.
The vortex kept stretching, its sight a mighty glower so far away, lined behind the Infinites. Eight of them were visible from here, I'd noticed back when I'd first soared through the skies. Alternating on the sides of the line of vision, the massive column of magic in the very middle at the far back.
Darkness shifted around me. And I had been all too aware as fissures lined the statues, shadows and smoke curling out of them like gaping wounds.
I smiled, sweeping a stare at the jewels—their eyes—fixed on me, their stances frozen as though they were leaping toward the thrones.
Two minutes until the ritual clicked its first half.
My limbs were steady, my senses cool and sharp as I stood, momentarily turning to the Stone Tower at the other side of the castle. I could almost see them, the monsters carved there, too. They had been angled the same way: toward the throne room.
Growls echoed between them, lost to the screaming winds.
I'd read about them in the books in Blake's chambers, in the library. Counted them over and over, every one of them, every specie carved into my very mind.
One minute.
Steel against bricks and marbles filled the air, rang over the ruins, and soft, light footsteps accompanied the gentle scent caressing my nose.
Josa of the Souleaters walked down the hall, straight to my side, no lights left in her.
There was blood, so much of it, on her. Of every colour and every scent. But—
The symbol painted over her forehead, her arms, every bit of visible skin…A slaves' mark. All of them, for Roga, her twin who had sold herself over and over for commanders and soldiers. Who'd given every shred of her again and again, who had been stamped and abused and wrecked so this darkness could end.
All of those marks, in her blood. A tribute, for such a powerful warrior that had battled for so many decades.
It was her blood, too, used to write the words on Josa's face, un-smudged by her tears. Inked into her flesh.
Death over cowardice, they'd said when I'd told them about the plan that could allow them to make it safely to Arelesia. Death over deaths.
So our people could live, they'd chosen to fall. And it was steel determination that glowed in Josa's dark eyes. Steel and grief and rage.
She gripped her twin swords—one of them Roga's—tighter.
The vortex reached its peak.
The beasts almost snapped loose.
Side by side we stood, staring at the claws that gleamed quicksilver, the fangs that grew to terrible length.
The sorceress only whispered, "Long and glorious may your reign be, my queen.''
The first monster was almost out.
Magic flared, crackling around my hands, my body.
I gave Josa one glance, my words ringing between us, "For Roga.''
Growls like nothing I'd yet heard filled the air.
"For Roga.'' And then she was at one of the beasts' head, bringing it down with a swift blow. Then the other. Then the other.
Steel and magic sang, her swords and my powers dancing, rippling, shredding.
A blow to the right. A jump to the side. A maw sliced in half, head rolling to the ground.
And the sorceress's words echoed across the castle's grounds as an oath, an unbreakable, breathless chant.
For Roga.
A swing of the sword down. A turn to the left. A snarl and blood. Blood blood blood.
For Roga.
Thunder crackled from my hands, shredding the monsters and their darkness to dust.
For Roga.
Side by side. Back to back. Blood splattered. Limbs were cut. Heads rolled.
For Roga.
For everyone who'd given himself to this cause, this war.
For everyone I'd been too weak and too scared to save. For those who'd been hunted down at the Fire Festival, for those who'd bled and grieved. For Taloan. For my parents, my family.
Wings and talons were ripped apart. Growls and snarls echoed in my bones, fueling every piece of me. Every bit of rage.
Fire shot out of my hands, burning the head aiming to bite mine off. It erupted into ashes and smokes. Again and again, every blow swift and sharp. And exhilarating.
I'd waited so long for this bloodbath. For this end.
Claws, each as long as swords came from all sides, a shield of magic blocking their ways, leaving them sliced, the broken shard rattling as they hit ground. Earth and air and fire and water darted out, freed after so damn long—
A small gasp.
The fire melted the beast before it had been able to swallow Josa, but the hand she pressed to her chest, the blood pouring beneath it, the haze in her eyes…
I burned and fought harder, magic latching in every direction, shielding us, butchering them one by one as the sorceress dragged herself until she rested against the piles that had been the thrones.
The earth cracked.
A mass of darkness slithered out of it. And then swallowed the beasts—all of them, both those that had been carved in this room and the Tower.
Nothing was left in its wake, not a scrap, nothing other than the splattered blood and dying Josa that indicated those beasts had been real.
The darkness curled around her, leaving a body at her side, wrapping them both together. This darkness that swayed like a snake, the grey fog as its eyes, I could only smile.
At Ha-ámej who seeped back into the world. At the twins reunited, at the hand Josa left on her dead sister's face, her name a lost whisper amongst the night.
And then she was gone, too.
The tightness in my throat had been beyond suffocating. Painful. Squeezing my lungs, my heart.
No more beasts came. I remained once again alone, dust and smoke swirling in my vision, the Twin Devils claimed back by the world behind me, together like they'd been born.
Death over deaths.
No, their names would not be forgotten. None of them.
The vortex started thinning, a loud, heavy madness soaring up the skies. Spreading through the earths. Perhaps it barreled on Aether's heavens, perhaps it rattled their thrones. And perhaps they were battling, too, from wherever Apocalys had been hidden.
The magic was still intact, the ones spread through the sky unbreakable. A dome, strong enough to withstand them all but Blake, for when the moment would come and the real destruction would begin. A trap, so none could escape; a first copper for all the debt I would repay them.
I waited again as the temperature dropped furthermore, ice and gelid scampering over what remained of the castle. The vortex thinned.
And the sound that swallowed the world, that curled in every last bit of me, it was a god's wrath. A hideous, heart-stopping wail of pure, unadulterated blind rage.
Fear spread like a disease, those locked in their houses, silent as the dead were mortified, their auras trembling, flickering even when they were so far and so deep hidden from the castle's grounds.
Their god, and yet such clean terror.
The column of magic became frail, the growls and thunders and lightning exploding one after the other, the world turning white white white.
Then silence. Emptiness. The only sound the might of Dearcious's wings as he soared up the way back to his castle.
To his falling reign.
His shadow crossed the first Infinite.
It crashed down. Along with every bit of land beyond the Wall. All of it—cities and countries, houses and mountains and plains. All the way to the ocean between Eziara and Nevora. Nothing more remained over rocks and dead bodies.
He crossed another one.
My magic clicked. It fell. The lands cracked, exploded. Barracks and houses, soldiers and commoners. Dead.
Another one, another piece of Eziara with it.
My magic kept on clicking. The world kept on crumbling.
I walked out of the throne room, out of the gardens, and straight to the lands that shattered here, too.
The sea that brought towers and citadels and mansions down. That swallowed the very earth, turning it into pebbles, swallowing it deep. The monsters floated at the surface. Dead.
Dearcious became closer and closer, rain falling over the entire continent, seeping my magic into its very throbbing heart.
I could taste it on my tongue, his rage. His bitter, uncontrolled madness.
I kept walking, buildings falling like a house of cards by strong, unrelenting winds. Most of the generals and leaders met their end that way, and those who came out, who ran toward me, their cries and magic a faint hiss around us, it only took one blow and they were no better than all those dying across the continent with every snap of my powers.
A mesh. A cobweb. A thoroughly concocted fabric of strings that tied Eziara together, that would leave no inch of it unharmed.
He became closer, his wings dispersing the rain as he leaped. Straight toward the entrance of the Stone Tower. Straight where I waited him.
He'd wanted Cantelot. Had wanted to destroy it. I'd send for Téors and Siltheres this morning, a small, mental whisper I had begged and prayed like never before that Apocalys hadn't sensed and heard it. But I'd taken that risk, and whether they received it or not, they already knew what to do. Where to keep our legions.
It had been all so thoroughly planned. Even in war councils, even with oceans between us and not a direct way to communicate after Dearcious became too aware and too careful. Each attack, each army and cadre I'd convinced Blake to send, to attack a specific area…it was a message. All along.
Blake—Dearcious snarled, fangs and horns and wings and a three-edged tail sprouting out of his skin. Scales rippled at the sides of his neck, fire wrapped with every breath.
Mealin had been so terribly wrong in believing the fire he'd stolen from him was the twin to Leon's. Because it was still there, that unholy power laced into every bit of his creation.
The earth fissured as he landed, the rest of the Infinites down, the half of Eziara with them.
For a heartbeat that lasted as a lifetime, we stared at each other. Truly stared, no masks, no lies, no deception.
Only madness and anger and rage. Both of us mirrors in so many ways.
I was already within the Tower before his claws almost shredded my skin into ribbons, flying up the stairs, him half a breath behind, magic roaring, trashing, fighting.
The Tower was falling, too. His wings bringing it down as we raced up, not a scrap of magic scratching my shields. Too worn from the ritual, too voided, and yet he still breathed so much power.
But not enough. Never enough—
The ceiling fell. I fell.
Head hit against an up-raised, hollowed tile.
Sharp, razor teeth filled his mouth, horned head and clawed hands replaced his human skin. It was Dearcious, full and mighty.
He lunged—
Crashed against the side.
Amber that glowed like gold streaked his depthless eyes.
His roar shattered the window behind me.
I reclined, pulling myself up, hand pressing against the tile, the magic I'd left in it.
He tumbled to the other side.
Amber.
The magic flared into life.
I jumped out of the window, out to the rain, to the ravine that the chaos I created left in its wake.
And up. Up up up up up.
To the skies so far away, Dearcious catching up behind me.
It was too early for this fight to be over.
The dome in the sky fully materialized, trapping the winged demons in, the sea swallowing whoever had tried to flee by ship.
There was no way out.
Their cries filled my ears. Their begs thrummed in my bones.
I soared up higher. Faster. And then stopped.
Stared at Dearcious, at his darkness, at Blake within him fighting back.
I pulled on all the strings, all the runes, all the magic—
Eziara erupted. Burned and burned and burned along its soldiers, its dungeons, the Drakals hidden deep.
The Dark Continent after eight thousand years was finally free.
And it was only Dearcious and I now.
I let my powers out then. Undone myself in ways I'd never done before.
I bled into everything, breathed everything, embraced and tasted every little bit of powers and consciousness.
Dearcious would not make it out alive.
And at long last, I allowed my magic, my self to be free.
Finally unleashed.
THE END