One blow. Two. A third that sends Zeyv crumpling to the ground.
I stagger to my feet, blood dripping from my arm, heart thundering. Zeyv gurgles, trying to rise. Kael’s blade flashes, and it’s over.
Zeyv is still.
We breathe. We bleed. We survive.
Bodies litter the corridor, steam rising from sliced flesh and scorched clothing. My chest heaves, adrenaline buzzing like a hive under my skin. Kael’s shoulder brushes mine as he straightens, blood and energy residue staining his armour.
We won—but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Not when we’re surrounded by the carnage of our own people. Riftborn. Rebels. Residents.
Footsteps echo beyond the far corridor. A door swings open. Gasps ring out.
Shit.
More residents filter into the hallway, faces pale and eyes wide. Some look horrified, others angry. More than a few are watching Kael like he’s a fucking threat all over again.
No. Not today.
I step forwards, planting myself in front of him. “Back off,” I snap, voice louder than I expect. “We were attacked. This”—I gesture to the bodies, to the mess—“was not our doing. Zeyv and his crew ambushed us.”
There’s murmuring, shifting, uncertain glances. Most know what a fuckhead Zeyv is. Was. No doubt whatever Varek got caught up in last night with Zeyv has reached the gossip mill too.
“Someone get Varek,” I add, heart still hammering.
The doors at the end of the hall slam open before anyone can move. Varek storms in like a tidal wave wrapped in fury.
For most, it’s the first time they see it—the full terrifying presence of our leader. His skin gleams in the light like a living oil slick, every muscle coiled with restrained violence. The silver of his eyes glows brighter than ever. His horns curve like weapons themselves, casting long shadows behind him. Massive. Lethal.
The crowd recoils, even without a word from him. They feel it. The weight of him. The threat he holds in check.
His gaze snaps to the corpses, the still forms. To Zeyv’s body. Then to me. To Kael.
“What happened?”
“Zeyv tried to kill Kael,” I say, voice steady now. “He didn’t act alone. They were waiting.”
Kael stays silent at my side, every muscle locked, ready.
Varek’s gaze darkens as he surveys the scene. “Anyone else involved still breathing?”
One of Zeyv’s group moans faintly, twitching at the edge of the carnage. Another stirs with what looks to be a broken leg from its odd angle, whimpering.
Varek doesn’t even flinch. “Detain them. Now.”
Enforcers appear out of the shadows like summoned wraiths, stepping around the stunned onlookers and moving in without a word.
Varek doesn’t have to raise his voice. With one sweeping glare and a flex of his enormous form, he commands immediate attention. The Riftborn who’d joined us after the fight fall silent.Even the vocal ones hesitate, eyes flicking from the bodies on the floor to the blood-slicked walls and then to Kael and me.
“Disband,” Varek orders, voice low and lethal. “This ends now.”
A few mutter as they back away, clearly expecting answers, maybe even justice—or vengeance—but no one dares push it. Especially not with Varek radiating wrath and authority in equal measure.
“The bodies,” he instructs Shanae, who appears by his side without a sound, “remove them. The wounded… get them treated under guard. No exceptions.”
Translation: He believes us. Which… duh. Like we were going to start a brawl right before heading off to potentially save the two most politically inconvenient people in the realm.
“We don’t have time for this,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
