The shadow surged forward with a roar, its crackling limbs striking the cobblestones in an explosion of lightning and wind. Villagers screamed as they scattered, abandoning carts and stalls in their desperate bid for safety. The vibrant Festival of Shadows was now a scene of chaos, the hum of magic replaced by the elemental's deafening presence.
"Move!" Dryanden shouted, stepping in front of Rowen and drawing his sword in one swift motion. His crimson eyes glowed in the dim light, his body coiled like a spring ready to strike.
Rowen stumbled backward, clutching her burning wrist. Her heart pounded in her chest, the crescent mark pulsing in sync with the elemental's movements. She could feel its energy—wild and untamed—calling to her, pulling at her magic like a tide threatening to drag her under.
"It's locked onto her," Thalor said grimly, his hands already alight with golden magic. He stepped to Rowen's side, his sharp gaze scanning her trembling form. "Rowen, can you feel it?"
"Yes," she gasped.
"Then you need to take control of it," Thalor said, his voice calm despite the chaos around them. He raised his hands, weaving a shimmering barrier of light between them and the elemental. "Focus on me. Breathe."
"I—" Rowen choked on her words as the elemental struck the barrier with a crack of thunder. The shield wavered but held, though Thalor's jaw tightened with the effort of maintaining it.
"Rowen!" Dryanden's voice cut through the haze. He glanced over his shoulder, his sword gleaming as he prepared to strike. "Whatever you're feeling—push it back. Don't let it consume you."
The creature roared again, its massive form splintering into tendrils of wind and lightning that lashed out in all directions. One struck a nearby stall, reducing it to ash in an instant.
Dryanden moved like a shadow, his blade slicing through the elemental's swirling form. Each strike disrupted its shape, sending sparks flying, but the creature reformed almost immediately.
"It's feeding off the storm," Thalor muttered, sweat beading on his brow as he reinforced the barrier. "We have to sever its connection."
"How?" Rowen asked, her voice trembling violently.
Thalor turned back to her, his golden eyes burning with intensity. "You can do it. Your magic—it's stronger than anything this creature can wield. You just need to focus." Thalor's golden eyes burned into hers, cutting through the chaos as Rowen gasped for air. Her magic surged wildly, the crescent mark flaring with violent, untamed energy that made her entire body tremble.
"You feel it, don't you?" His voice was low, almost velvet, threading through the roar of the storm like a caress. "The power. It's not the mark that's wild—it's you."
Rowen shook her head, panic threading through her voice. "I don't know how!"
Thalor's smirk was faint, confident, as his gaze swept over her trembling form. "Oh, you do," he murmured. "You just need to stop holding back."
He moved behind her in one fluid motion, his chest pressing flush against her back. The solid weight of him enveloped her, his tall frame casting her in shadow. Rowen's heart pounded wildly as his breath brushed her ear.
"Relax," he murmured, the word drawn out, coaxing. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her closer, while his other hand adjusted hers with slow, deliberate care. "You're fighting it, Rowen. Stop." Rowen stiffened, her lips parting on a shallow gasp, as his hand slid upward, covering her eyes. The motion was slow, intimate, the press of his palm forcing her head to tilt back until it rested against his chest. His breath skimmed her ear, warm and deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine.
Stop seeing the chaos. Stop running from it. Rowen's pulse thundered in her ears, but the steady rise and fall of his breathing began to calm her. The chaos around them—the screams, the roar of the elemental, the crackle of lightning—faded into the background as his voice wrapped around her thoughts.
"That's it," Thalor said, his tone as steady as his hands. He guided her arms outward, aligning their movements as if they were one. Feel the magic. Don't fight it. his voice murmured, warm and steady in her mind Feel me, his voice threaded through her thoughts like a whisper of silk. Not the storm. Not the noise. Me.
His magic pulsed against hers, a steady rhythm that throbbed in time with her own racing heart. The pressure of his arm around her waist shifted, firm and unyielding, while his voice hummed through her mind like a caress. Let it consume you. Let it set you free. The tension in her shoulders eased as she let his words sink in. The crescent mark burned brighter, the searing heat less chaotic now, more focused. She could feel the storm's power, wild and untamed, but instead of resisting, she began to channel it.
"Good," he said, his hand still resting lightly over her eyes. His fingers brushed against her temple, a subtle, grounding touch that sent a strange warmth through her chest. "You're stronger than this storm" he whispered, both aloud and in her mind. His tone softened, his fingers brushing lightly over hers as he adjusted her aim. Prove it.
Rowen took a shaky breath, her vision dimming as she poured the last of her strength into the mark. The energy surged through her, colliding with the elemental's core in a blinding flash of light. The creature roared, its form splintering into crackling shards before dissolving into nothing.
The force of the spell tore through her, and Rowen's knees gave out entirely, her breath coming in shallow gasps as the last threads of magic drained from her body. Her vision blurred, and the roar of the storm faded into a hollow echo.
Breathe. His tone was steady, but underneath, there was something warmer, something coaxing. You're safe now, Rowen. You did it.
Thalor tightened his grip, pulling her closer as he glanced down at her pale, sweat-dampened face. The heat of his palm brushed her wrist, cool magic pouring into her skin to soothe the raw mark. A soft chuckle escaped him, quiet and almost wistful. "I wonder," he murmured, his voice barely audible, "if you realize how much potential you really have." The words echoed, soft and soothing, as her head fell back against his chest.
Rowen's lips parted, a faint sound escaping her as she tried to respond, but the darkness was already closing in. She barely registered the way his hand lingered at her waist, his breath brushing against her hair.
And then, she was gone.
Thalor shifted, adjusting his grip to keep her upright as she went slack. His hand brushed over her wrist, the crescent mark still glowing faintly, and he frowned. "You pushed too far," he muttered to her unconscious form as he sent another cooling pulse of magic into the mark.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Thalor looked up, his smirk returning in full force as Dryanden strode toward them, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.
"She's unconscious," Thalor said calmly, his hand still clutching at Rowen's waist. "And completely drained. I was keeping her upright this time. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Let go of her," Dryanden growled, his fangs flashing as he stopped inches away.
Thalor's smirk widened, his voice dropping into a provocative murmur. "She didn't seem to mind my touch."
Dryanden's hand shot out, curling protectively around Rowen's arm as he pulled her out of Thalor's grasp. His jaw clenched as he cradled her limp body against his chest, the faint weight of her a reminder of how fragile she was. He had failed to shield her, and worse, Thalor had been the one to guide her when she needed someone most.
"Don't touch her like that again," he snarled, his voice low and lethal, but the jealousy simmering beneath his anger made the words taste bitter. It should have been him—his presence, his strength—that steadied her. Instead, Thalor's hands had lingered, his magic had guided her in a way Dryanden couldn't.
"Or what?" Thalor replied smoothly, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "You'll remind me how territorial you can be? She's not a possession, Dryanden. Without me, she wouldn't have succeeded."
"Without you, she wouldn't be unconscious," Dryanden growled, his voice vibrating with barely restrained fury. Her head rested against his shoulder, her face pale and damp with sweat. The sight made his jaw clench, his crimson eyes narrowing as he turned back to Thalor. "You pushed her too far."
"She needed to be pushed," Thalor replied, his voice maddeningly calm. "If she doesn't learn control, she won't survive the next fight—"
"She almost didn't survive this one," Dryanden snarled, his fangs bared. "She's not your pawn to test your theories on."
Thalor's smirk faltered, his expression hardening. "She's stronger than you think, and she proved it tonight. Or did you plan to coddle her forever?"
Dryanden's voice dropped lower, his tone sharp with barely suppressed emotion. "You think I can't protect her? That I'd let her fail without you?" His crimson eyes glinted dangerously, but beneath the fury was something deeper—raw and exposed. "She doesn't need you to survive. She has me."
Thalor raised an eyebrow, his golden gaze flicking briefly to Rowen's unconscious form in Dryanden's arms. "You think so?" he asked lightly, though the weight behind his words made Dryanden's grip on her tighten. "Then why didn't you help her? Why didn't she call for you?"
For a moment, the two men stood in tense silence, the weight of their standoff hanging heavy in the air. The remnants of the storm crackled faintly in the distance, the last echoes of the battle fading into quiet.
Thalor was the first to look away, his golden eyes scanning the square. "This storm wasn't natural," he said, his voice quieter now.
Dryanden's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Thalor gestured toward the dissipating clouds overhead. "The elemental wasn't born of chaos. It was sent. Someone manipulated it."
"Alaric?" Dryanden asked, his tone hard.
"Most likely," Thalor said, his expression darkening. "Or one of his agents. Either way, it wasn't a coincidence."
Dryanden shifted Rowen slightly in his arms, his gaze flicking down to her face. Her breathing was steady now, though her exhaustion was palpable in the slackness of her features.
"We're leaving," he said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "She needs rest."
Thalor inclined his head, though his smirk returned faintly. "Of course. But I'd suggest you be ready for the next test. Something tells me this isn't the last surprise Alaric has for us."
Dryanden ignored him as he turned toward the edge of the square. The villagers had begun to creep back into view, their whispers rising like the murmur of the storm's aftermath. Dryanden paid them no mind, his only concern the unconscious woman in his arms.
Rowen stirred faintly as he carried her, a soft sound escaping her lips, but she didn't wake. Dryanden glanced down at her, his expression softening for a brief moment before he shifted his attention back to the path ahead.
Whatever Thalor thought he'd achieved tonight, Dryanden would make sure Rowen didn't pay the price for it again.