Chapter 39

  We had done it.

  The Crytomancers – dead.

  Ygrath – dead.

  The blizzard – stopped.

  The surrounding land – saved.

  And as a macabre bonus, Varnedor’s cursed bloodline was finally wiped out. No more rumors. No more doubt. The end.

  I stood, breathing heavily, atop one of Ygrath’s shattered ribs, the demon-blackened sword still in my hand, wings spread like a dark altar. Beneath me, the dragon’s blood steamed around his massive body. The air tasted of iron, of already rotting flesh, of victory.

  Sounds strange, but that’s how it was.

  Simon stepped closer, his gaze lifted—not at me, but at what I had become.

  “The blizzard is gone,” he murmured, more to himself than to us. “The mana density down here has halved… maybe more.”

  His voice was calm, almost analytical, but his eyes—there was something else in them. Thoughtfulness. And a trace of concern.

  Vin knelt silently by Gunnar. Her hands trembled as she tried once more to wrap him in warm, living vines. The vines steamed, cracked, shattered—they stood no chance against the pure, cruel ice.

  Gunnar remained what he had become: a statue. A monument. A sacrifice.

  No one said anything.

  No blame. No false comfort.

  Just that unspoken silence, hanging in the dome like a second skin.

  I let my gaze wander to the others.

  Maira stood a few meters away. She seemed composed, whispering something that sounded like a quiet prayer—maybe for Gunnar, maybe for herself.

  And me…

  I knew the moment had come.

  Not just the victory—but the after. The uncomfortable after, when the fight is over and you have to decide where to go. Who you are. What you want to do.

  “We…” I began, but I paused, suddenly realizing how little I truly knew of the others’ goals. At least their current ones.

  Vin was searching for a tribe. A place where she could learn what her inner strength really was. Maira—so much rage, so much faith—needed refuge. Protection. Room to rediscover her path, after the destruction brought by the Inquisition.

  And I had a contact in Thulegard—a shadow who could tell me more about Zarkhural, and my path to revenge.

  But Simon?

  What did Simon want?

  I turned to him, but as I looked him directly in the eyes, I realized how little I actually knew about him. Only that he had studied in Neros. That he knew magic—no, that he was a master of combat magic.

  And that he… had secrets.

  The wind whistled softly through the dome we stood in. The runes faded beneath the sudden warmth released by Ygrath’s fall.

  “So—” I began again, claws still slightly raised, as if I were about to proclaim something solemn, maybe a plan, maybe a joke.

  But Simon interrupted. Quickly. Unusually quickly.

  “Please…” he said.

  His voice was calm, but oddly sharp.

  “Change back. Then we talk.”

  I blinked. It didn’t sound like a request. More like a command. His eyes were clear, but hard. Not hostile—not yet—but cautious. Watchful. Wary.

  I looked down at myself. The blackened claws. The thorned wings. The shadow my body cast on the ground looked like a painting of a demon from old legends.

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  No wonder he was nervous.

  Okay…

  Maybe he was right.

  So I began to pull everything back.

  The spikes, the claws, the dark tail. My chestplate receded, the demonic shadow wings flickered, began to fade. I felt the heat of my essence retreating, my silhouette smoothing out again—becoming human.

  Then it screamed in my skull.

  “DON’T DO IT!”

  Gravor’s voice wasn’t a call, not a warning—it was a primal scream. A flash of sheer panic.

  And a millisecond later, I understood why.

  A blinding orange-red beam shot through the air—focused, precise, merciless. A pure firebolt, so concentrated it burned like a divine laser. I didn’t feel pain, only pressure, heat, and the crack of metal—my left shoulder erupted in sparks. The demonic armor, just moments ago thorned and hard as cursed bone, was gone—too soon. I had been hit. Directly.

  I staggered back a step, dazed, my shoulder charred and smoking.

  Then I saw him.

  Simon.

  His staff still glowing, red runes pulsing, his gaze focused. Determined. And empty. Not filled with hatred—but as if driven by something else.

  My heart pounded. A thousand questions stormed into me all at once, like an uncontrollable flood of thought:

  Why? Why is he attacking me?

  We fought. Together. We laughed. Played. Aren’t we friends?

  Does he see me only as a monster now? Has he… always thought so?

  And… are the others, maybe, too—?

  The answer came immediately.

  Vin screamed—and it wasn’t rage, it was pure shock.

  “No!”

  Her voice almost shattered the air, so full of horror it was. Vines shot from the ground, swirling like a startled swarm of snakes through the air and wrapped around Simon in the blink of an eye.

  Maira reacted too—without a breath of hesitation. She jumped forward, her eyes full of doubt and pain, but determined to defend me. Her bare palm touched Simon’s back, and instantly he convulsed, coughing violently. A strange, dry cough—not normal.

  Maira’s touch had triggered something in him.

  Something foreign. Something poisonous.

  I inhaled sharply.

  Relief. They stood with me. Vin. Maira.

  The nature elf, the prophetess of a plague god—they believed in me. In what I was. Despite everything.

  I was just about to return to a battle stance, maybe thank them—even try to restore some balance—

  when Simon turned the tide.

  He moved like a shadow between lightning strikes.

  His body twisted, spun, his arms lashed outward—and Vin’s vines burst apart in a storm of sparks. Their tips burned, the bark steamed, as if dipped in lava.

  Maira was thrown backward by the force of his movement, hit the wall with a loud gasp. Before she could rise, Simon slammed his staff into the ground—a searing ring of lightning blasted out from his feet in all directions.

  The sound was thunder in a cave.

  Vin was hurled several meters back, rolled across the ground, slammed into the stone-hard wall.

  Maira flinched, fell again as the electric pulse hit her.

  And I… I just stood there. My shoulder burning, my heart racing, and the man who had just been my ally…

  stood alone, staff raised, eyes blank.

  And he was looking at me.

  Only at me.

  But I didn’t attack. Maybe it was the shock.

  Maybe it was the memory of all the conversations, the laughter, all those things we had shared side by side at the inn. Maybe it was the faint echo of friendship, draping like a veil over my rage, holding my sword back. Probably both.

  I stood still. Torn between fury and loyalty.

  Vin, however, didn’t hesitate. With an angry cry, she leapt forward, her hands glowing green with power. Rooted vines lashed out through the air, aiming for Simon’s legs and his staff.

  But Simon was faster. He murmured a spell—barely audible, almost tender—and the air itself vibrated. Then the magic exploded.

  A barrier unfolded around us in a split second—not just a shield, but a dome. A whole world, a chamber of light, sparks, and shimmering energy. It was perfectly formed, almost like blown glass, but thrummed like living electricity.

  Vin slammed into the magical wall with full force. She gasped, staggered back, rubbing her shoulder. Maira tried a blessing—a golden shimmer traced along the dome like water over cold stone—but it had no effect.

  I was trapped. With him.

  Simon.

  The friend who had just tried to burn me.

  We stood facing each other. Just a few meters apart. No movement. No words. Only our eyes meeting like blades.

  I used the silence.

  Took a deep breath—and let the transformation happen. My fingernails grew into claws. My back arched as wings tore out. Spikes burst from the skin on my shoulders, scales spread across my torso. My aura shifted.

  Deeper. Darker. Stronger.

  I was a monster again. And I was ready.

  “Gravor,” I called in my mind.

  “Do you know anything about what’s going on with Simon?”

  His answer came instantly, like a cheerful storm.

  “Well first of all: no idea what’s up with your little wizard friend. But honestly, just look at yourself!”

  His tone turned into mock admiration.

  “I mean, hello? You look like you’re about to lead a demon army. Of course he’s scared. He probably thinks I’ve taken over you or something. Can’t even blame him!”

  I snorted inwardly. So helpful.

  “And do you maybe have something to do with Vin and Maira standing by me so unconditionally? You’ve messed with my aura before, toned others down.”

  Gravor chuckled. Then his voice turned strangely sincere.

  “Second: No. Really not. I stopped doing that after we woke up from your soul realm. Everything they did—they did on their own. Simon shocked them. Not me. They defended you because they chose to.”

  I paused.

  Good. Very good. That mattered. To me. Maybe more than I wanted to admit.

  “Okay… and… can you help me any other way?” I asked carefully.

  Gravor made an indignant, almost offended noise.

  “Help you more?”

  He laughed—dry, devilish, amused.

  “Come on. You’re a walking nightmare, sweetheart. You’ve got teeth, wings, scales, shadow, power, presence. What more do you want? I’ve given you everything you can carry.”

  His voice grew quieter.

  “The only thing I could still do… would be to take control.”

  He let the words hang in the air like sweet poison. He savored them. An offer. A whisper. A promise.

  “But you don’t want that, do you?”

  I didn’t answer right away. He laughed again, sounding now like a drunken madman on a king’s throne.

  “Exactly. So don’t complain. You’re a damn titan on two legs, and your opponent’s a guy with a stick. Clear?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  And nodded. Ready.

  Simon raised his staff. I raised my claws. If he truly wanted it… then so be it.