“I need to get a message out,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. “The ritual blade—I recognize it from the ancient texts. It’s storing magical energy for the final ceremony.”
Lyra glances nervously at the tent entrance. “They watch everything. The prisoners, the reports…”
“Not everything.” I pull a small vial from the medical equipment. “Blood samples. Viktor expects me to analyze genetic markers. He won’t suspect a message hidden in technical data.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. “I deliver the results to the ritual preparation team.”
“And if that team includes someone sympathetic to Kael…”
She nods almost imperceptibly. “I’ll try.”
We resume our examinations with renewed purpose. Each prisoner represents another opportunity to encode information. By late afternoon, I’ve examined over forty individuals, carefully marking most as unsuitable for the ritual while embedding critical intelligence about Viktor’s plans.
When the guards finally return me to my cell at sunset, exhaustion weighs heavily on me. But beneath the fatigue burns determination. Viktor has revealed both his timeline and his method—the ritual blade that stores magical energy with each sacrifice. Knowledge Kael can use, if my messages reach him.
After Viktor discovered my subterfuge with the encoded messages, he increased security around me but still requires my expertise. Lyra has become my lifeline—when she brings medical supplies for me to analyze, she smuggles out my observations hidden in routine inventory reports.
In my tiny cell, I curl onto the thin pallet, conserving energy. The mate bond, incomplete though it remains, pulses like a distant heartbeat. I focus on it, trying to project my thoughts toward Kael. The bond doesn’t allow direct communication, but perhaps emotions, impressions…
Come for me, I think fiercely. Not for my sake, but for everyone Viktor plans to sacrifice. I send images of the ritualblade, the altar, and the timing of the ceremony. Whether these impressions reach him or not, I don’t know.
A guard slides a tray of food through the small opening in my door. Tonight’s meal contains a small surprise—tucked beneath the hard bread is a folded scrap of paper. I palm it quickly, waiting until the guard’s footsteps retreat before examining it.
The note contains just three words in tiny script: “Coalition approaches dawn.”
Kael is coming. With allies. Tomorrow.
I destroy the note, crumbling it into dust between my fingers. One more night to survive. One more day of pretending to help Viktor while actually undermining him. And then—battle. Reunion. And perhaps the chance to stop this madness before it claims hundreds of lives.
I lie back on my pallet, eyes closed but mind racing. In the distance, thunder rumbles—not Viktor’s magic, but natural storm energy gathering. The weather itself seems to mirror the coming conflict. I reach for that energy, feeling my connection to it strengthening despite my captivity. My storm-touched heritage, awakened by Kael and nurtured through our bond, responds to the distant lightning.
Tomorrow, I’ll need every ounce of that power. Tomorrow, everything changes.
I fall into uneasy sleep, dreaming of golden wings and healing light, of battles in the sky and rituals of blood and love. And through it all, a sense of certainty:
When lightning strikes twice, nothing remains the same.
18
KAEL
Dawn breaks in streaks of crimson and gold as our coalition gathers at the edge of Dawn Ridge. I stand at the highest point, watching the assembled forces below—a sight unprecedented in our territories’ history. Storm Eagles circle overhead, their shadows crossing the ground where Haven’s Heart soldiers check weapons alongside wild clan fighters. Sable’s wolf clan prowls the perimeter while Bran’s bear shifters arrange supplies with methodical precision.
The sight still fills me with a mixture of pride and disbelief. Three weeks ago, these forces would have killed each other on sight. Now they prepare to fight together against a common enemy—against one of my own.
My sister Zara lands beside me, shifting smoothly to human form. Her bronze-gold hair whips in the morning breeze as she catches her breath. “The last scouts have returned. Viktor’s forces are concentrated at Black Ridge as expected. No sign they’ve detected our approach.”
“And the ritual preparations?” I ask, unable to keep the tension from my voice.
“Proceeding exactly as Elena warned in her coded message.” Zara’s expression darkens. “The prisoners are being moved to the ancient temple. They’re planning to begin at midday.”
I nod, calculating. Elena’s intelligence has proven accurate at every turn—the ritual blade Viktor has been preparing, the positioning of his forces, the timeline for the sacrifices. Her brilliance continues to amaze me, even from captivity. Through our incomplete bond, I can feel her presence like a distant heartbeat, steady despite whatever Viktor has put her through.
“Brother.” Zara places her hand on my arm, her touch grounding me. “You should see this.”
She leads me down the rocky slope to a command tent we’ve established. Inside, the air is thick with tension and the smell of leather and steel. Marcus Ashford, Elena’s brother, stands over a map table with Commander Tavis and Sable. Their heads are bent together in deep discussion.
Marcus looks up as we enter. His military demeanor doesn’t waver, but I can see the concern for his sister in eyes so like Elena’s—the same intelligent brown, the same determined set when focused on a problem. “Stormwright. Our scouts captured this an hour ago.”
