64

  Durante rode fast.

  The wind cut against his face, the forest blurring into streaks of green and shadow as he pushed the horse to its limits. Soraya followed close behind, her own mount struggling to match his desperate pace. The lynx—small at the start—clung to Durante’s back, claws gripping into his cloak, its breath steady and alert.

  But Durante’s breath was not steady.

  A tightness grew in his chest, deep and unrelenting—an instinct sharper than pain, sharper than fear. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, unnervingly wrong.

  He urged the horse faster.

  “Durante,” Soraya called from behind, worry lacing her voice, “slow down—you’re bleeding!”

  “I have no time,” he growled. “My sons—”

  And he kicked forward again.

  Hours later, the broken spires of the ruined druid castle rose through the mist like decayed fangs. Vines hung in sheets from the shattered walls. The air tasted of stone, old magic, and something burned.

  Durante leapt off his horse before it fully stopped.

  He ran—Soraya close behind—across the cracked courtyard and into the ruins. They darted past pillars wrapped in ancient roots, through the shattered hall, toward the spiral staircase descending into the earth.

  Every step made Durante’s heart pound harder.

  At the foot of the spiral, the passage opened to the familiar bridge. The lynx sniffed the air, fur bristling. And then—

  Durante saw it.

  The Haribon.

  Pierced by a stone spires, pinned to the ground like a sacrificial beast. Its massive wings trembled with faint life, feathers bloodied, an arrow lodged deep into its chest.

  Durante’s breath hitched.

  He sprinted to the creature, gripping the stone spires. Muscles strained. His wound pulsed with fire.

  With a brutal, desperate cry—

  CRACK—

  he snapped the spires in half.

  The Haribon sagged, gasping for air. Durante reached into its feathers, grasped the arrow, and ripped it out. Soraya stepped closer, astonished.

  “It should be dead,” she whispered.

  “Not while my children still need it,” Durante muttered.

  The Haribon’s eyes flickered open—weak but aware. It chirped softly, a pained sound, but it lived.

  Durante ran ahead, crossing the bridge in massive strides.

  Soraya followed.

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  When he reached the massive hall, he froze.

  It was as if the world itself paused.

  Maxi lay near the wall, blood dried on his head, his abdomen swollen purple. His limbs were limp. His face was pale. The sight hit Durante like a blade to the ribs.

  He dropped to his knees beside him.

  “Maxi—? Maxi!” His hands trembled as he checked his pulse.

  Weak. Faint.

  But there.

  Soraya knelt next to him, breath unsteady. “He’s alive,” she whispered. “Barely.”

  Durante scanned the hall with frantic eyes.

  No Finn.

  His stomach clenched violently.

  He lifted Maxi into his arms and ran toward the dragon door. The vines parted instantly at his approach, bowing aside like recognizing an ancient command. Soraya hurried after him.

  The dome was in ruin—cracks along the walls, wilted vines scattered like dead roots.

  Lir lay near the wall.

  Durante lowered Maxi gently and rushed to her. Soraya followed, pressing her fingers to Lir’s neck.

  “She’s alive,” Soraya murmured. “Barely conscious. Very battered.”

  Blood streaked Lir’s face. Her breathing rattled, yet her eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

  “Finn…” she whispered.

  Durante leaned close, heart pounding. “Where? Lir, where is he??”

  Lir’s trembling hand slowly lifted—

  and pointed toward the endless pit.

  Durante’s blood ran cold.

  His unease erupted fully—

  like an ancient nightmare ripping open inside his chest.

  He ran.

  The lynx leapt after him, shifting in midair—

  its body enlarging, wings erupting from its shoulders in a burst of glory, a golden horn curving backward from its skull, fangs lengthening like carved obsidian.

  The guardian form.

  They reached the edge of the pit—and Durante did not hesitate.

  He jumped.

  The lynx dove after him, wings spreading to slow their descent. The vines around the pit reacted, glowing faintly. The jasmine light below illuminated the cavern floor like stars trapped underground.

  When Durante landed—

  His heart broke.

  Katherine knelt beside Finn.

  The jasmine blossoms glowed faintly around them, dimming like dying lanterns. Finn lay motionless, blood pooling beneath him. The stab wound was unmistakable—deep, cruel. His arm hung twisted. His face was pale, streaked with dust and blood.

  Katherine was crying—broken, panicked, shaking.

  She turned when she heard footsteps, eyes red and pleading.

  “… I— I did everything— I tried—”

  But the rest of her words dissolved.

  Because Durante had already stopped moving.

  Stopped breathing.

  Stopped everything.

  He looked at Finn—

  and something inside him shattered.

  He walked toward his son as if moving through water, every step heavy, reluctant, terrified of what he was about to see. His memories assaulted him—Finn laughing as a toddler, carrying Maxi on his back, falling asleep on Durante’s lap after school, the two boys riding the delivery bike with oversized helmets, both of them clinging to him whenever storms frightened them.

  He knelt beside Finn.

  His hands shook as he touched his son’s face.

  And then the tears came.

  Quietly at first. Then uncontrollably.

  He bent forward and hugged him—desperate, clinging, shaking.

  “Finn… son… my boy…”

  Katherine sobbed harder.

  After a long moment, Durante forced his tears aside and checked Finn’s vitals. A faint pulse. Fragile. But present.

  A tiny spark of hope ignited.

  “Get on the lynx,” he told Katherine, voice cracking.

  She obeyed.

  He lifted Finn into his arms. Soraya arrived moments later, carrying Maxi. Lir staggered, leaning on Soraya for support, as they mounted the beast.

  The lynx spread its wings.

  They ascended the pit in spiraling motion, the jasmine flowers glowing one last time as if bidding farewell.

  Back in the halls, Durante did not stop moving.

  The Haribon lay near the bridge, still unable to rise. The Haribon stretched its neck weakly toward Lir, brushing its beak against her arm as a final farewell before flapping upward into the sky.

  They reached the square room at the entrance.

  Durante snapped his fingers—

  whoomph—

  torches lit instantly.

  He placed Finn in the center. Soraya placed Maxi beside him. Katherine and Lir stayed behind them on the lynx, clutching one another.

  Durante bit into his palm, blood dripping onto the floor.

  “O’er the twilight hill,” he chanted, voice low and shaking, “I bend the world to will.”

  The floor ignited in glowing blue lines—

  an ancient circle awakening.

  Air hissed upward.

  Light swallowed them.

  Then—

  They stood on a circular stone platform atop a lonely hill.

  The treehouse of Bona rose beside them.

  Across the valley loomed Talon Peak.

  Without a word, they ran.

  Toward the one place left that might save Finn.