Kael
Thom's blade came down fast. I barely had time to move before it buried itself into the wooden table behind me with a dull thunk.
My breath came sharp and ragged as I staggered back, nearly tripping over a fallen chair. My knife felt awkward in my hand, but I gripped it tighter anyway. I had no choice.
Thom wrenched his knife free with a snarl, his face twisted with fury. "Murderer," he spat, his voice thick with hate. His eyes burned as they locked onto me. "Devil."
He lunged again, slashing blindly, his blade a blur in the dim firelight. I ducked, barely avoiding the tip as it whistled past my face.
"Stay light on your feet," Elias's voice echoed in my mind. "Let the enemy burn their strength on anger—let them tire first."
But Thom wasn't tiring. If anything, his rage only seemed to fuel him.
He came at me like a man possessed, knocking over a stool in his charge. My back hit the table, hard enough to send pain jolting through my spine.
I raised my knife instinctively, but it was sloppy—too slow.
Thom slammed into me, his weight driving me against the wooden surface. The blade in his hand flashed toward my ribs.
I twisted just in time. His knife carved through my tunic instead of my skin, the fabric splitting open. I shoved him off me and scrambled to the side, sending a stack of wooden plates crashing to the floor.
"Don't meet strength with strength," Elias had told me, his voice ringing louder in my head than Thom's raging screams. "You're not strong enough to win that way. Move.Your life depends on it."
I forced myself to breathe, to think. But Thom wasn't giving me time.
He roared and swung again, this time aiming for my throat. I barely managed to duck. The tip of his knife nicked my left cheek, fire-hot pain cutting through my skin.
I gritted my teeth. Move.
I dodged left, then right, forcing Thom to keep turning, forcing him to keep missing. He growled in frustration, his movements growing wilder.
His foot caught on the upturned rug by the hearth, and for a fraction of a second, he stumbled.
Now.
I lashed out, my knife slashing across his forearm. He let out a sharp grunt, but he didn't slow down. If anything, the sight of his own blood only made him angrier.
"The Veyrn killed my father!" he snarled. "You don't belong here!"
His blade came down again, even faster now. I dove to the side, and his knife struck wood instead of flesh.
Before he could recover, I grabbed the nearest thing—a heavy iron pot from the counter—and swung it with all my strength. It connected with his temple with a sickening crunch.
Thom stumbled, dazed, blood dripping from the side of his forehead. He spat to the side and grinned.
"That all you got?"
Then he was on me again. His blood red voice filled my sight, begging to distract me.
We crashed through the door in a tangle of limbs, my back slamming into the hard dirt outside. The cold night air burned my lungs as Thom landed on top of me, pinning me down. His knife pressed against my throat.
"You should've died with the rest of them," he growled.
I gritted my teeth and did the only thing I could—I slammed my knee into his stomach. Thom gasped, his grip loosening just enough. I twisted, throwing him off me, and scrambled to my feet.
"He's tiring." I could hear Elias's voice in my head, calm even in the middle of this chaos. "He's using too much energy. Stay on your toes."
Thom got up slower this time, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His stance wasn't as steady as before.
Good.
I gripped my knife tighter.
We circled each other under the moonlight, our shadows stretching long across the dirt. Neither of us spoke. Our ragged breath was the only sound between us.
Then, slowly, Thom lowered his knife.
He threw up his free hand in surrender. "I won't try to kill you," he panted. "As long as you leave the village. Now."
I didn't lower my blade. My heart was still hammering, my mind still reeling. I watched him, waiting for a trick.
"Where's Elias?" I demanded.
Thom let out a bitter laugh. "How should I know? Soldiers came looking for him. For you."
Soldiers.
My stomach twisted. If they had Elias—
I barely saw the movement before it was too late.
Thom lunged, grabbing his knife from the ground.
I reacted on instinct. My blade flashed, and I felt it sink deep.
Thom let out a strangled gasp.
I staggered back. My knife was buried in his left shoulder, the steel slick with blood.
Thom fell to his knees, his face twisted in pain, but he still grinned. "Weak," he hissed.
His eyes flickered to the ground, and it took me a second to realize why—my woolen cap had fallen off in the struggle.
My white hair was fully visible under the moonlight.
Thom let out a breathless, wheezing laugh. "Look at you," he muttered. "Go on. Do it."
I took a step back. "Do what?"
His grin widened, even as blood dripped from his mouth. "Use your necromancer magic," he rasped. "Bring me back as your puppet. Isn't that what you devils do?"
I shook my head. "Shut up."
"Go on," he taunted, voice weaker now. "Do it. Make me one of your monsters. Just like the rest of your kind."
I clenched my jaw.
"Breathe," Elias had told me. "Control it."
But I couldn't breathe.
Not when Elias was in danger. Not when Thom kept talking.
"You'll get him killed, you know," Thom whispered. "Just like the Veyrn killed my father. Just like you'll kill everyone you ever care about."
Something inside me snapped.
A cold, searing pain split through my skull. My vision blurred, and suddenly, the world around me darkened.
My hands trembled as a deep purple glow curled around my fingers, twisting and writhing like smoke. The air crackled. The sky rumbled, heavy with the scent of rain.
Thom's grin didn't falter. "Go on," he whispered. "Prove to me how much of a devil you are."
I couldn't stop it.
I lunged.
Thom screamed.
A burst of purple light exploded from my hands.
Then—
Nothing.
When I opened my eyes, the world was silent.
Thom lay in front of me, his lifeless eyes wide, unseeing. My knife was buried deep in his chest, right through his heart. Blood spread across his tunic, dripping into the earth.
I stumbled back, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. My hands shook. What have I done?
The first raindrops hit my skin.
Then the purple glow came again.
I tried to stop it—I really did—but it was like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands. My fingers tingled, the glow spreading, seeping into Thom's body like ink in water.
Then he blinked.
I froze.
Thom twitched.
A low, guttural moan tore from his lips, raw and unnatural, like something dragged up from the depths of a dying throat.
Thom's body convulsed, his limbs seizing as if pulled by invisible strings. His fingers twitched, curled, then stiffened into claws.
His head lolled to the side, the wound in his chest still oozing dark, wet blood, but his body—his body wasn't dead. Not anymore.
With a sickening jerk, he sat up.
His breath rasped, wet and ragged, his shoulders rising and falling in an unnatural rhythm. His hands trembled against the mud before finding purchase. Slowly, shakily, he pushed himself to his feet.
His legs buckled at first, his body swaying as though it didn't quite remember how to stand. But then he steadied.
His head lifted.
His eyes—no longer brown but a pale, milky white—locked onto mine.
His lips parted, and a broken, shuddering moan escaped him.
Then he moved.
One step. Another. His arms hung limply at first, fingers twitching, but as he drew closer, they reached—grasping, clawing for me.
I couldn't breathe.
Flashes of the grave filled my head. The corpses. The way they had moved, the way their pale, dead hands had reached for me.
No. No, no, no—
A sharp whistle cut through the rain, slicing through the heavy silence like a blade.
Then—a sickening thud.
Thom's body jolted. His head snapped back as an arrowhead punched clean through his skull, just above his brow.
For a single, horrifying second, his body remained upright, frozen in a grotesque mockery of life. Then his knees buckled. He crumpled forward like a puppet with its strings severed.
Warm blood sprayed across my face. The coppery tang filled my mouth, my nose. I sucked in a sharp breath, my entire body convulsing as I stumbled back, heart hammering against my ribs.
The rain came harder now, washing streaks of red down Thom's slack, lifeless face. His vacant eyes stared up at the storming sky, unblinking.
A shadow stretched over me.
I forced myself to look up, my breath catching in my throat.
A man stood near me, flanked by soldiers in black and red. One held a bow, arrow nocked and aimed at my back.
The man at the center was tall, broad-shouldered, his armor sleek and dark, trimmed in crimson.
The rain slicked over the metal, running down in rivulets. A long cloak of black and gold billowed behind him, the deep red of it reminding me of old blood.
His face was sharp, angular, his jaw strong and dusted with the shadow of a beard. Dark hair, nearly black, was tied back at the nape of his neck.
His eyes—cold, piercing—studied me with a quiet amusement, a hunter appraising trapped prey.
One gloved hand rested on the pommel of a sword at his hip. The other hung loosely by his side, relaxed, as if none of this was anything out of the ordinary.
Behind him, one of his men held a little, crying girl. She struggled weakly, but his grip was unyielding. Her small frame trembled in the rain.
My breath caught in my throat instantly.
Karin.
Her eyes—wide, frightened—found mine.
I couldn't move.
The man took a slow step forward, his boots sinking into the wet earth. The moonlight above us played across his face, casting sharp shadows over his cheekbones, the cruel curve of his mouth.
Then he smiled.
"Found you."