Page 42 of Kissed By the Sun

My mind reeled at the implication. Had Echo been plotting this all along? I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the matter at hand.

"It's simple," I growled, locking eyes with the High Lord. "The elves can either help the fae, or die. The choice is yours."

The High Lord's laughter rang out, sharp and mocking. "You dare threaten me in my own throne room? You insolent-"

His words cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet, choking sound. My eyes widened as I saw the tip of a blade protruding from his chest. Echo had moved with such speed that I hadn’t even seen it. It was only his hand gripping the hilt of the dagger buried in his father's chest that told me what had happened.

"The choice," Echo said calmly, "has already been made."

I stood frozen, unable to process what I'd just witnessed. Echo had killed his own father without hesitation. The ruthlessness of the act sent a chill down my spine.

The guards, their faces still blank under their helmets, dropped to one knee in unison. "We pledge our loyalty to the new High Lord," they intoned, their voices a solemn chorus.

My gaze darted to the interrogator, the elf who had tormented Senara. He too knelt, but there was something off about his posture. I watched as he inched backward, edging away from Echo and towards the door. My muscles tensed, instinct telling me he was about to bolt.

Sure enough, the moment everyone rose to their feet, the interrogator spun on his heel and made a dash for the exit. Without thinking, I thrust out my hand, calling upon my power. A ring of fire erupted from the floor, encircling the fleeing elf.

The interrogator's scream pierced the air as he attempted to leap through the flames. But my fire was relentless, following his every move. After a few fruitless attempts, he seemed to realize the futility of his situation. He turned to face me, his eyes wide with fear and hatred.

I glanced around the room, noting the shocked expressions on everyone's faces. Everyone except Echo. His features remained impassive, giving nothing away. Was he truly unmoved by what was happening, or was he simply better at masking his emotions? Or perhaps the reality of killing his father hadn't sunk in yet?

"I want his life," I growled, gesturing towards the trapped interrogator. "His, and the other one who tortured Senara."

Echo nodded, his voice cool and detached. "Agreed. Their particular skill sets are no longer required in our new regime."

With grim satisfaction, I intensified the flames. The interrogator's screams reached a fever pitch before abruptly cutting off. In moments, there was nothing left but ash.

As the fire died away, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. One of the elves responsible for Senara's suffering was gone. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.

Echo stepped forward, seeming to examine the slumped form of his father's lifeless body in the throne before he gripped the front of his father’s tunic and pulled, sending his body sprawling unceremoniously before the throne. I watched, transfixed, as he unceremoniously shoved the corpse aside with his foot.

"A new era begins," Echo murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

As he turned and sat, settling onto the throne that was now his, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal turn of events. Just moments ago, we'd been fighting for our lives. Now, Echo sat upon the very seat of power he'd helped us overthrow.

With practiced ease, Echo produced a small, ornate dagger from within his robes. The blade glinted in the light as he drew it across his palm, barely flinching as blood welled up from the cut. Leaning forward, he smeared his blood along the arms of the throne, his face a mask of concentration.

"What's he doing?" I wondered aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.

Before anyone could respond, the massive doors to the throne room burst open with a thunderous crash. A flood of elves poured in—nobles, advisors, and other important-looking figures, their faces a mix of confusion and alarm.

"By the ancestors, what's happening here?" one of them shouted above the din.

"Is that... the High Lord's son?" another gasped, pointing at Echo.

The cacophony of voices grew, each demanding answers, explanations, reassurances. I tensed, ready for anything, my hand instinctively moving to my weapon.

Amidst the chaos, I noticed an older elf making his way purposefully towards the throne. Unlike the others, his face was calm, almost expectant. In his hands, he clutched a scroll.

"Silence!" Echo's voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a knife. The room fell quiet, all eyes turning to him.

The older elf approached, bowing deeply before offering the scroll to Echo. "My Lord," he said, his voice carrying clearly in the hushed room. "It is time."

Echo inclined his head. "Thank you, Advisor Thelian."

As Echo unfurled the scroll, I found myself holding my breath. What was this? Some kind of elvish ritual? A transfer of power?

Echo placed his bloodied hand in the center of the parchment. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a brilliant light erupted from the scroll, bathing the entire room in an otherworldly glow.

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