Page 147 of The Trials of Ophelia
Angelborn? The darkness breathed, almost in recognition. It caressed the spear across my back, but I did not let it break my guard.
“One foot at a time,” I coached myself. “Brace the other, lower carefully.”
I wasn’t sure how many steps it took until I met rocky earth. I couldn’t see past the rush of images in the pressing darkness. Blindly stretching out a toe, I tested the ground. It appeared solid, if on an incline of staggered rock. With a breath, securing my memories against the Pit’s, I placed both feet on the ground.
Mystlight flickered, as if it had not been used in decades. Ric had said that though they knew the crown was here, no one had been permitted to descend the pit in years due to its volatility. The mystlight would need to wake. Buried so far beneath the earth, the starkness of it seemed slightly different than our usual imbued light.
The onslaught of wanton images faded as I steadied myself, giving me a chance to reinforce my defenses. I tested the ground with a small jump. When it did not collapse beneath me, I tugged the rope twice again and unhooked it from my harness.
I cradled my injured arm in the other, relieving a bit of the stress on my shoulder while I could. It was likely only badly bruised and would be healed before I even made it out of here, Angels willing.
Blinking to allow my eyes to adjust to the new light, I surveyed the base of the pit. It was much narrower than the mouth towering above, maybe two dozen feet across and made of sharp, rocky steps and spikes. The chill seeped through my fur-lined Mindshaper boots.
The majority of it, though, was empty. A filter of fog or dust moved about, something prickling the back of my neck, but no one and nothing filled the center of the pit.
And about halfway around the wall, at the lowest point of the pit, a stone case protruded, wooden doors sealed tightly over it.
That is where the power comes from. That is what’s been calling to me.
I crept closer, bracing for something to lash back at me.
I thought back to the fight on the Seawatcher platforms and what Malakai had told us of Firebird’s Field. Each had been tailored to their Angel’s and clan’s practices and pillars. As I approached the stone case, wariness bracketing my muscles, I searched history for indications of what would be planted here. To decode what the Angel who had descended into madness would consider a test of valor.
And when I reached the case and stretched a hand out to wrap my fingers around the metal with assured, unflappable movements, pain radiated through my skull.
I collapsed to my knees. It took everything in my power to maintain my hold on the handle. My head was splitting, pain shooting down the center between my eyes and around the back.
Warmth spread along my neck, uncomfortable and burning. My injured shoulder screamed.
And under the mounting pressure, I dropped my mental defenses.
A swarm of images assaulted me, my fears rising to the surface. The Battle of Damenal played on repeat in my mind, each death reoccurring in slow motion. The initial blast that took out the Sacra Temple and the council rumbled my memory again and again and again.
I shook with it, my body convulsing on the floor of the pit.
She is playing now, the darkness cooed with glee. Little seraph, it is so fun feeding me.
The memories magnified. Each explosion was bigger. Each death bloodier. My feet froze to the cobblestones, and all I could do was watch.
Watch as each of my friends died.
As Jezebel took a blade through the heart, her eyes wide.
As a spear went through Cypherion’s skull this time, and he fell, lifeless.
As Tolek was buried beneath rubble, never to be found.
That one—that was the one that nearly broke me. But instead of giving in to the darkness, fury burned a spiral through my chest. It shot up my spine and ignited the rage I’d fallen to so many times before.
The one I’d tried to suppress.
Only now, I allowed it to flare freely. It powered the Angelblood instilled in my veins, ravaged the darkness until it swallowed back the temptations. In its place, I shoved my strongest, formative moments. I embraced the power of my Revered’s vow that had scared me. I indulged in the pain I’d suffered with Malakai and flooded my heart with the safety and adoration Tolek ingrained in me—with the dreams he allowed me to consider.
As burning power thrummed through me, I cried out against the pain and forced myself upright, swinging the door open.
The hinges cracked. The wood splintered.
And before me sat a twisted piece of obsidian metal, forged into vines with thorns jutting from the gnarled surface.
