Page 82 of Sundered By Fate

Sylthris turned and began to stride out of the wreckage, her disguise shifting back into her true form. Her silhouette was a menacing shadow against the flickering fires, her laughter echoing in the night.

"No!" Aric shouted, fighting against the magical force holding him in place. "Stop!"

But it was no use. The inhibitor cuffs drained him, sapping his energy, and he could barely move. He could only watch as Sylthris disappeared into the night, her laughter fading into the distance.

Aric's mind was racing, trying to piece together the fragments of information he had gathered. What had happened to Malekith? What were Sylthris's plans? And how did it all fit together with the strange vision he'd had in the dream of Malekith?

But the inhibitor cuffs were a relentless weight, dragging him down, and all he could do was slump back against the pile of rubble, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

As the magical force dissipated, Aric pulled himself loose from the rubble. Every muscle in his body ached, but his mind was focused on finding answers. He knew he couldn't stay here; he had to act quickly. His thoughts turned to Valerian, remembering the cryptic mentions of his "forces."

Was this what he'd been referring to? Aric wondered if it was related to whatever Valerian was developing in his workshop.

Aric's mind was a storm of confusion and fear, but he stumbled from the council chambers in search of Valerian’s workshop once more. The palace was in ruins, the air clotted with smoke from the eerie dark fires and burning magic.

Aric's heart ached as he recalled the way Malekith disappeared into the night. This wasn't the lover he'd known—the fierce, proud prince who had looked at him with such intensity, such longing, and with a fierce, frightful determination burning in his chest that Aric wanted to consume them both. This was a stranger, a shell of the man he had loved.

But that didn't mean he was willing to give up on him.

Not yet.

The pain of seeing Malekith like this, of knowing that some part of him had to be suffering just as he was, only fueled his resolve. He couldn't let them tear Malekith apart, not without a fight. But he couldn't save Malekith until he understood the full scope of what was happening.

First, Valerian. He was the most immediate threat. There was still a chance to stop him and his forces before they seized control of the city.

Aric gathered his strength, pushing through the pain and the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. He focused on the magical tingle in the air, the resonance of the rift that had opened just beyond the palace walls. He reached out with his senses, drawing on his own magic, the fire that burned bright within him.

He wouldn't let Valerian win. He wouldn't let Malekith fall to whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

Not without a fight.

Aric's footsteps echoed through the desolate corridors of the burning palace as he wound toward Valerian's workshop. The once-grand halls were eerily silent, with only the distant rumble of magical explosions and the screams of panicked citizens serving as a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded.

But Aric couldn't afford to be distracted. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—of Valerian's duplicity, of Malekith'sbetrayal, of the Shadow she warned him of—but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

Time was running out, and every second counted.

As he reached the entrance to Valerian's workshop, Aric's heart was pounding in his chest. He had to find a way to stop Valerian's forces before they could do any more damage.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of the magical rifts. The world shifted and twisted with the flow of unbound energy as he wove his way through the ominous equipment, the arcane runes glowing a sinister blue.

Aric's mind raced as he tried to calculate his next move. He had to disable the rifts somehow, but he didn't have the power on his own.

There had to be something else. Some other way.

An idea formed in his mind—a half-baked, reckless plan—but it was all he had.

He would have to drain the anomaly's energy.

He would draw the anomaly's power into himself, absorbing the energy until there was nothing left to sustain the rifts. It was dangerous, unprecedented—potentially catastrophic—but Aric didn't care.

He had to stop Valerian.

He had to stop the demons.

He had to save Malekith.

And if that meant burning himself out like a shooting star, then so be it.

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