But instead of shattering, the blade stabilizes with a horrible lurch, its glow dimming to an unstable, sickly pulse. Viktor staggers backward, clutching it as though it’s burning him, yet unable to let go. The circle hums with volatile energy, unfinished, dangerous.
Around us, freed prisoners stream toward safety, the coalition forces pushing Viktor’s loyalists back through the temple halls. For now, the blade still holds—but I can feel through our bond that it’s only a matter of time before it fails completely.
Kael’s gaze meets mine, golden eyes grim and determined.
20
KAEL
Istand facing Viktor across the ancient ritual chamber, our bodies illuminated by the sick glow of his corrupted blade. Elena is beside me, her healing magic pulsing in counterpoint to the storm energy crackling at my fingertips. The temple floor beneath us thrums with awakened power, ancient symbols glowing with increasing intensity as Viktor’s sacrificial ritual nears completion.
“It’s over, Viktor,” I say, positioning myself protectively in front of Elena. “Surrender the blade.”
Viktor laughs, the sound hollow and strained. The silver streaks in his hair have multiplied since he began channeling the stolen life force, making him look decades older than his thirty-five years. The ritual blade pulses in his hand, hungry for more victims.
“Surrender? When I’m but a moment from claiming my birthright?” His gaze shifts to Elena, predatory and calculating. “Your ground-dwelling mate can’t save you, Kael. Her presence here only confirms your corruption.”
Behind him, dozens of the remaining prisoners—Storm Eagles, Haven’s Heart citizens, wild clan members—strainagainst magical bonds that connect them to the ritual circle. I can feel their fear and pain through the temple’s ancient magic, their life force slowly being drained to fuel Viktor’s ascension.
“The prophecies were never about domination,” Elena says, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “They spoke of unity between sky and earth magic, not conquest.”
“Pretty lies from a pretty scientist.” Viktor raises the blade, its corrupted energy making the air shimmer. “The Storm Eagles were meant to rule. I will restore our rightful place.”
Outside the temple, battle rages across the mountainside—my coalition of Storm Eagles, Haven’s Heart forces, and wild clan warriors fighting against Viktor’s loyalists and their Dire Wolf allies. Through the shattered ceiling, lightning flashes across the storm-darkened sky, responding to the conflicting magic within the temple.
Elena’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. The moment we touch, our energies begin to merge—her silver-blue healing magic twining with my golden storm power. Through our incomplete mate bond, I feel her determination, her brilliant mind already calculating possibilities.
“The ritual blade is unstable,” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear. “His spell is nearly complete, but he can’t control the amount of energy he’s collecting.”
I nod slightly, understanding flowing between us without words. “The counter-ritual?”
“It’s our only chance.” Her eyes meet mine, brown depths glowing with silver light. “But Kael… it will complete our mate bond. Permanently.”
The gravity of her words sinks in. We’ve discussed this possibility in the ruins, studied the ancient texts describing the original mating ritual between storm-touched partners. A joining of souls as much as bodies, creating a permanent magical bond that would forever link our lives and powers.
“I know,” I reply, squeezing her hand. The idea of being bound to Elena forever doesn’t frighten me—it feels like destiny finally acknowledged.
Viktor watches our exchange with growing suspicion. “Whatever you’re planning won’t work.” He gestures with the blade, sending a pulse of dark energy across the chamber floor. “The sacrificial circle is complete. The power is mine to command.”
“Now,” Elena whispers.
We move in perfect synchrony, stepping into the center of an older, deeper ritual circle carved into the temple floor beneath Viktor’s crude markings. Ancient symbols light up beneath our feet—patterns of storm clouds and healing hands intertwined, created centuries before Viktor’s twisted interpretation of Storm Eagle destiny.
“What are you doing?” Viktor demands, his confidence faltering as the original temple magic responds to our presence.
Elena’s scientific precision guides us as we position ourselves at opposite points of the ancient circle. Our hands remain joined across the center, completing the circuit of power. The prisoners watch with desperate hope as we begin the counter-ritual, our voices joining in the ancient language of the temple builders.
“From sky to earth, from storm to healing,” I begin, the words rising from memory I didn’t know I possessed.
“From separation to unity, from conflict to harmony,” Elena continues, her pronunciation perfect despite never having spoken the ancient tongue before.
Viktor lunges forward with a snarl, but the ritual circle flares with protective energy, halting him at its edge. “Stop this!” he shouts, slashing at the barrier with the corrupted blade.
We continue uninterrupted, the ancient words flowing between us as if we’ve rehearsed them for years. With each phrase, the circle glows brighter, and I feel the connectionbetween us strengthening. The incomplete mate bond that has tantalized us for weeks pulses with new energy, reaching for completion.
“The ritual can’t be stopped,” Viktor says, desperation creeping into his voice. He turns back to his sacrificial circle, raising the blade high. “I’ll finish this now. All life force to me!”
The prisoners cry out as Viktor accelerates the ritual, their vitality visibly flowing toward the blade. The corrupted weapon grows brighter, crackling with stolen power.
