Crown of Ash and Light, page 38
“You’re tough,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “I’ll give you that. But it’s over, little girl.”
I clenched my teeth, refusing to let him see my fear. “Not yet,” I hissed, my hand pressing against the ground.
The earth beneath us rumbled violently, the cobblestones breaking apart as a massive root shot up between us. Talon stumbled back, his glowing eyes narrowing in frustration, and I used the moment to get to my feet. My side ached, my arm throbbed, and blood dripped steadily onto the ground, but I wasn’t done.
Not by a long shot.
“You’re going to regret that,” Talon growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Try me,” I shot back, my voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing me down.
The square seemed to hold its breath as we faced off again, the tension crackling like a storm about to break. I knew I couldn’t keep this up forever, but I didn’t need forever. I just needed to hold on long enough to find an opening, to remind him that I wasn’t someone to be underestimated.
This fight wasn’t over—not yet.
AZURA
Pain bloomed first—sharp, splintering behind my eyes. My mind swam in and out of consciousness, tangled in darkness and fragments of memory. One moment I was falling, the next I was weightless. And then I hit the ground. Again. Air rushed into my lungs in a choking gasp as I snapped upright.
Stone. Cold. A dim, sickly green light painted the walls in eerie shadows. I wasn’t alone.
“Welcome back,” came a voice from somewhere in the room. Smooth. Mocking. Familiar. Vega.
“Son of a—” My voice cracked mid-curse as I struggled to focus. I tried to summon water, anything—but there was only silence where my magic used to be.
“You’ve been unconscious for a while,” he continued. “Not that I minded. You’re much quieter when you’re drooling on the floor.”
I glared through the haze, vision sharpening just enough to catch his silhouette leaning lazily against the far wall. “If you like me quiet so much, why not let me go?”
He chuckled. “Because I haven’t finished playing with you yet.”
“Go choke on your own shadow,” I snapped.
He took a few slow steps toward me. “Feisty. Just like your mother.”
The mention of her lit something volatile inside me. “You don’t get to say her name.”
He smirked. “Why? Does it hurt? Knowing you’ll never live up to her?”
I bared my teeth. “You don’t know anything about her. Or me.”
“Oh, but I do. I know your fears, Azura. I can smell them.” He inhaled deeply, as if savoring the scent. “You hide behind all that fire, but inside? You’re drowning in doubt.”
I opened my mouth to fire back, but something shifted. A flicker. A twitch inside my head. Not a thought—something else. A foreign pressure brushing against my consciousness, feather-light and ice-cold.
My stomach twisted. He was in my head.
I recoiled instinctively, eyes widening. The sensation grew—like fingers dragging across memories, pressing into places I hadn’t opened in years. I threw up walls in my mind—raw instinct carving out barriers of water and steel, cascading waves shielding the fragile edges of my thoughts.
“Ahh,” he whispered, and I saw his smile deepen. “There it is. The resistance. Beautiful.”
“Get. Out.”
“Oh, come now. Don’t act like you’ve never wondered,” he cooed, circling me now. “What would Nyxaria have done? What would she think of you now?”
“Shut up—”
“She stood tall against the empire. She led the world’s last hope. And you?” He crouched just in front of me. “You’re a scared little girl who can’t even protect herself.”
My shields trembled.
“She would be ashamed,” he said, softer now. Almost gentle. “You carry her name, her power... and yet you break so easily.”
Something inside me cracked. He felt it. And he slipped through.
The world dropped away. I was no longer in that room. I wasn’t even me. I was watching—no, reliving—a memory that didn’t belong to me.
Nyxaria stood bloodied in the center of a burning forest clearing, her cloak torn, blade gleaming red with fresh blood. Her breath came heavy, shoulders heaving. Trees around her were cracked and ablaze, their trunks splintered as if ripped by claws of magic. The sky above burned orange, darkened by smoke and raining embers.
Surrounding her were Vega, Talon, Xira, and Kane—the Four. Each stood poised with deadly precision, their eyes locked on her like wolves scenting blood. And behind her—they came.
A lion, massive and brilliant, burst through the flames. Light cascaded off its golden mane like molten stars. Its roar was a war cry that cracked the air itself. A black panther followed, low and silent, its form wrapped in living shadow. Its violet eyes cut through the smoke like twin moons.
The light and dark elementals. Her guardians. Her last line.
Even before the fighting began, the lion’s body tensed, its claws digging into the ground not just from readiness but from fear. Its golden eyes darted to Nyxaria, as if seeking reassurance. The panther prowled close to her, fur bristling, every movement a blend of protection and unease. They were not just preparing to fight—they were preparing to die if she asked.
And they did fight. With everything.
Talon darted in first, each hand tipped with bladed finger gauntlets that gleamed with a venomous sheen. He moved faster than most, with speed that seemed almost unnatural—quicker than a human, but not as fluid as a full elemental conduit. A half-blood, maybe. The panther intercepted, shadows twisting as it pounced and locked Talon in a furious clash of claw and steel. Their dance was vicious—Talon swift and unpredictable, the panther faster, vanishing and reappearing with each strike. Blood streaked the panther’s shoulder, a deep cut from a lucky hit, but it didn’t pause—it roared in defiance and drove Talon back with renewed fury.
Kane charged next, his massive frame barreling forward like a living fortress. He wielded a massive mace, its head covered in dark runes and spiked steel. His movements weren’t fast, but each step carried weight, force, and unrelenting momentum. The weapon dragged sparks from the scorched earth, and when the lion met him, it was like watching two juggernauts collide. The lion clawed at him relentlessly, each strike leaving glowing scorch marks on his thick armor. Kane absorbed the blows with terrifying resilience. His strength made him nearly immovable. The lion’s mane was darkening with blood, but it showed no hesitation, only blazing loyalty.
Xira moved with human speed, but her precision was razor-sharp. She wielded twin curved blades that glinted like quicksilver, her strikes fluid and merciless as she darted forward with deadly intent. Nyxaria met it with a spiraling wave of fire. Their magics collided midair, erupting into a shockwave that leveled nearby trees and sent both women skidding across the battlefield.
Vega stayed back, tendrils of shadow writhing at his feet. He was watching. Waiting for the moment she faltered. “Do try not to embarrass yourself, Nyxaria,” he called. “You know how I hate cleaning up messy legends.”
Nyxaria was everywhere at once. Her blade moved like lightning, dark and light magic weaving through every strike, pulsing with radiant brilliance and seeping shadow. She fought like a star on the verge of collapse—glorious and devastating. Pure beams of light exploded from her hands, while waves of dense, chilling darkness crashed into her enemies. Her elementals flanked her, striking down enemies who dared flank or overwhelm. But even gods bleed.
The lion took a throwing knife hurled by Xira straight to its ribs and roared in agony. It retaliated with a surge of radiance, throwing her across the battlefield—but its steps faltered. It whimpered low in its throat, glancing again at Nyxaria, as if asking—can I still stand? Can I keep going? Its body trembled, but it pushed forward.
The panther lunged for Vega, but he caught it mid-leap with a wall of writhing black. The beast hit the ground hard, shadows twisting as it struggled to stand. Blood streaked its flank, one leg dragging behind, yet it still growled, still rose, still moved to protect. It limped to Nyxaria’s side, pressing against her leg as if drawing strength from her presence.
Nyxaria faltered. Blood soaked her sleeves, her vision blurred, her breathing ragged. But she looked down at them—her lion and her panther—and whispered, “No more.”
The elementals growled in protest, stepping forward, teeth bared and eyes wild. They didn’t want to abandon her. Their rage was righteous, their bodies broken but their spirits blazing. They were not done. They would never be done.
But Nyxaria would not let them die for her.
Then came the moment.
Kane surged forward, blade raised, eyes fixed not on Nyxaria—but on the lion.
“NO!” Nyxaria’s voice shattered the sky.
Everything froze.
Magic halted. Fire dimmed. Even the wind stilled.
She turned slowly. Her gaze fell upon her elementals.
In a language lost to all but the ancients, she spoke. Her voice was sorrow wrapped in command.
The lion blinked, eyes wide. The panther whimpered softly.
They didn’t want to go.
The lion looked ready to disobey, claws digging deep into the earth, shoulders quaking. The panther let out a pained snarl, taking a step toward her, low to the ground, refusing to meet her eyes. Grief and loyalty warred in their movements.
But they obeyed.
The lion bowed its head, pressing against her hand one last time. Tears shimmered in its golden eyes—yes, tears. The panther curled its tail around her ankle and stared into her eyes with something close to heartbreak. Its body trembled with restrained rage.
Then they vanished—light and shadow dissolving into the wind.
And Nyxaria was alone.
Xira struck first, blades of searing magic. Nyxaria screamed, a shield barely catching the edge. Kane swept low, catching her leg and sending her crashing to the ground. Talon’s daggers pierced the dirt beside her head. Vega stepped forward, shadow tendrils curling like snakes.
Nyxaria swung upward with her shattered blade, one last burst of radiant and shadowy energy erupting from her hands—but her strength was gone. Her body trembled, her arms shaking under the weight of her own magic. Blood smeared her lips, her knees buckling. And then—she looked up.
Her gaze lifted to the sky, eyes softening for a brief, sacred moment. Her lips moved, a whisper carried on the breeze—barely audible, but it reached the soul: “Please do not come, old friend... just protect them. Guide them.”
Then the sky trembled.
From beyond the smoke and clouds, a black dragon soared overhead, its wings slicing through the sky with heavy, mournful beats. Its massive form shimmered with age-old power, scales like midnight woven with starlight. It did not descend. It hovered for a heartbeat too long, as though the weight of what it was being asked to do—what it was being forced to do—was breaking it from the inside.
It saw her. She saw it. Their eyes locked. No words passed between them, but they didn’t need any. Their bond was older than kingdoms, deeper than blood. The air between them crackled with all that had been shared—and all that was about to be lost.
“Please,” her whisper had said, carried on the wind, so soft it could’ve been mistaken for a prayer. “Don’t come. Just protect them. Guide them.”
The dragon’s wings faltered. Its great body trembled. A low, guttural sound built in its chest, like the groan of the earth splitting in two. And then it let out a roar—not of fire, not of fury—but of heartbreak. Raw, guttural, and world-shaking. The kind of sound that made birds fall silent and trees shiver. The kind of sound that tore through the heavens and made the sky weep.
It wanted to go to her. It needed to. Every part of its body screamed to turn back, to fight, to burn the world for what they were doing to her. But it didn’t.
Because she had asked. And she had never asked for anything.
With one final, pained sweep of its wings, the dragon rose higher into the clouds, vanishing into the smoke and light. The world beneath it trembled, not from magic—but from grief.
And Nyxaria was alone.
As the last echoes of the dragon’s roar faded into the sky, something shifted in her. She gritted her teeth, rose on shaking legs, and gripped the hilt of her shattered blade like it was still whole. Light shimmered in one hand, darkness coiled in the other. Her voice, low and fierce, rang across the battlefield.
“You want to end this? Then come and try. But I swear, I’m taking at least one of you with me.”
Talon hesitated for half a heartbeat. Even Xira paused, lips curling with something between a smirk and disbelief. “Still got breath left, huh?” Xira said, spinning her blades. “You’re too stubborn to die properly.”
“I’ve never done anything properly,” Nyxaria spat back, her mouth bloodied. “Why start now?”
She surged forward—not to flee, not to beg—but to fight. One last time. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, each one flecked with blood, but she didn’t let them slow her. She spun low beneath Talon’s gauntlets, swiping his leg out from under him with a tendril of darkness that lashed from her palm like a whip. As he stumbled, she slammed her shoulder into his chest, sending him staggering backward with a startled grunt. Every motion was carved from agony, but she embraced it—used it—like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
She was a storm of light and shadow, a dying star refusing to burn out. Her strikes were wild but calculated, fueled not by stamina, but by sheer willpower. Every flicker of movement was pain, but she moved anyway—graceful even in her desperation. She twisted her body to avoid Kane’s crushing swing, catching the edge of his mace with a burst of dark energy that sent sparks skidding across the scorched battlefield. Her free hand crackled with radiant light as she hurled blinding shards at Xira, forcing the blade-wielding assassin to backpedal, cursing with every deflection. Every movement cost her, every spell left her trembling, but she didn’t stop.
Even when Kane’s mace caught her in the ribs and hurled her into the dirt with a sickening crack, she rolled with the impact and rose again, coughing blood, eyes burning with fury and grief.
Even when Talon’s gauntlet sliced through her shoulder, the metal biting deep, and she cried out—not in surrender, but in rage. Her blood hit the ground like ink spilling across a dying canvas.
Even when Xira raised her blade for the final strike—her face twisted with something like frustration, like disbelief that Nyxaria was still standing—Nyxaria didn’t look at her. She looked past her.
Somewhere in that final moment, something shifted.
And I heard it.
Clear and soft, echoing not from the battlefield but from deep within my mind, like it had been meant for me all along.
“My children... Azura, Dravon, Therynna, Stravos... forgive me. I will be watching over you, please stay safe.”
The words were barely a whisper, carried like wind through water. But they shattered me. I felt my breath catch, and tears welled before I could stop them, spilling silently down my cheeks. I clutched my chest, trying to hold myself together, but there was no strength in my limbs. Only heartbreak.
Then the memory should have ended.
But it didn’t.
Nyxaria’s body trembled, her skin slick with blood and sweat, her breaths shallow and ragged. Her blade was shattered, her magic flickering like a dying star. She remained kneeling in the dirt, yet her eyes still burned—not with fear, but with fury. She had nothing left, and yet she refused to fall.
Vega stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the air around him warped by the shadows that clung to his form. His boots crunched over scorched debris as he approached her like a wolf circling a dying lioness.
“You should’ve stayed down,” he said, voice smooth and mocking. “But you never knew when to stop, did you?”
Nyxaria lifted her head just enough to meet his gaze. Her voice was hoarse, but defiant. “You’re not half the man you pretend to be, Vega. That’s why you hide behind the others. Behind power that was never yours.”
Vega’s smile didn’t waver. “And yet here you are. On your knees. While I’m still standing.”
She spat blood at his feet. “Standing doesn’t mean winning.”
His smile thinned.
He dropped to a crouch in front of her, one hand glowing with tendrils of dark energy. They slithered toward her temple like sentient ink. “You always thought you were strong because you loved. Because you had something to fight for.” He leaned in. “Let’s see how long that lasts once I show you what it costs.”
She flinched—not in fear, but from rage. She tried to move, to lift a hand, summon even a flicker of light—but her body gave nothing. The magic was gone. Spent.
Vega’s fingers brushed her temple.
And just before the memory surged again—
Everything went black.
NYXARIA
The battlefield faded.
The taste of blood on my tongue, the weight of my broken limbs, the roar of the dragon above—it all unraveled like threads in a dream. In its place came the soft crackle of flames, distant shouting, and the scent of smoke and something floral—jasmine, I realized. Jasmine and ash.
I blinked. And I was twelve again.
The war-torn streets of Eldara stretched out before me, my hometown nearly unrecognizable beneath the chaos. Houses once carved from white stone and crystal shimmered with firelight and destruction. Familiar faces darted past—friends, neighbors, teachers—each one armed with magic that shimmered in every color imaginable.
Veylans—magic-born people of Eldara—fought with a desperation that bordered on divine. Fire roared from the rooftops, searing the sky as pyromancers scorched the advancing imperial ranks. Earthshapers raised jagged barricades from the cobbled streets, impaling soldiers as they charged. Water-callers formed tidal whips and crashing walls to block incoming arrows, while air dancers darted through the chaos, sending blades spinning with bursts of wind.
