Page 74 of King of Flames and Shadows

And I can’t do it.

A lifetime of blood ties, memories of our youth, our family, stay my hand. The force of my own fury almost overtakes me, hot and relentless, but somewhere deeper, a faint, flickering shadow of restraint holds me back.

He is my kin. The only family I have left. Now that Calliope is …

With a snarl of disgust, I release him, pushing off to stagger to my feet as I transform back to human form, my scales melting into skin, the cold air biting at my wounds. I stumble forward, barely glancing back to see him sprawled in the rubble of the East Tower, his chest heaving with pain and exhaustion. He isn’t dead—but for now, he won’t be a threat. I turn away, my vision swimming as blood from my shoulder wound tricklesdown my arm, every pulse a reminder of the brutal clash that’s just taken place.

“Calliope …”

The name is a prayer on my lips, a whisper that drives me forward. She fell from this very height. My mind races with visions of her body lost among the flames below, the chains dragging her down into shadow, but my heart refuses to accept it. Shemusthave survived.

The shadows of the castle's halls close around me like an endless night, broken only by the flickering glow of fires raging beyond the stone walls, the broken windows. My own blood trails behind me, each step unsteady as I press forward, my ears ringing, mind clouded. It’s like moving through thick, stifling fog. Outside, the roar of dragons splits the air, accompanied by the clash of steel and the screams of soldiers locked in deadly combat. The sounds bleed into a hollow cacophony.

My vision wavers, blurring the portraits lining the cracked walls. The painted eyes of my ancestors and fallen kin watch me from within their frames, the ancient, regal faces seeming almost to move, as if they lean forward in judgment, their gazes cold, piercing.Arvoren, they seem to whisper, filling my mind with distant memories. I feel their disapproval, their accusations—for every decision, every life taken and spared, all of it leading to this ruin.

My pulse races, the bitterness of failure settling like iron in my stomach.What was all of this for?I wonder, barely aware of the muttered question escaping my lips.

Another image flickers into my mind, a face. Calliope. Her laughter ringing like music in these very halls, her eyes sharp and fearless as she challenged me on matters of life and loyalty, her passion burning through her every word.

I remember the warmth of her hand in mine, the quiet strength she never spoke of but always showed. And then I see her falling, the chains dragging her down, her dark hair a trail of smoke against the inferno below.

A breath tears from my lungs, sharp and pained, as the floor beneath me wobbles slightly and rights itself. My hands shake, coated in my own blood. My body feels distant, each heartbeat like an echo, dulled and slow. I don’t realize that I’m staggering until my shoulder slams into the wall beside me. The impact jars me, and I push off, pushing myself forward, deeper into the castle. The sounds of battle outside rage on, and yet it feels as if I am moving away from the chaos, into a silence that grows more eerie, more unnatural with every step.

The deeper I go, the darker it becomes. Shadows press close, and the fires from outside fade, swallowed by the castle’s oppressive darkness. A whisper reaches my ears, low and hollow, slipping through the silence like a cold wind.

I stop, my pulse hammering as I scan the corridor, searching for the source, but there is nothing except the empty hall.

Yet that feeling—that dreadful certainty that something is watching—crawls over my skin, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

I push onward, forcing myself to ignore the feeling. The shadows seem to shift, stretching like fingers across the floor, twisting as if alive. My steps slow despite myself as a chill fills the air, prickling my skin, sending a shiver deep into my bones. The silence becomes heavy, smothering.

And then, out of the darkness, shapes begin to emerge.

At first, I think they’re shadows cast by the firelight outside, figures of smoke and shadow weaving through thehallway. But as I draw closer, I realize that they are no mere illusions. Cloaked figures stand half-hidden in the darkness, their faces obscured beneath heavy hoods. The flickering light catches their eyes, glinting cold and unfeeling as they stare at me.

My mind jolts to awareness, grasping desperately for understanding as dread coils in my stomach. They are not warriors, nor creatures of flesh and blood. They move without sound, their robes stirring in an invisible breeze as they begin to close in, circling me, their presence heavy with malice.

Mages.

“What—who are you?” I snarl, stumbling back a step, my voice rough and strained. But the words sound small, muffled.

They do not answer, only raise their hands, and I catch a glint of steel in their grasp—chains, shimmering with an unnatural light, their links forged with runes that pulse with dark energy.

Power thrums in the air, filling the space between us. Before I can react, the cloaked figures chant, their voices a dark melody that wraps around me like a shroud.

The chains leap to life, surging forward like serpents. They strike my wrists and ankles, tightening with brutal force, their chill sinking through my skin, deeper, into my bones. I thrash, struggling against the iron-cold grip, but the chains dig in, searing my flesh with a foreign magic, burning with a force that drains my strength, filling me with a sickening weakness.

I feel my legs buckle as the chanting grows louder, their words blending into a harsh, droning hum that fills my mind. The chains wrap tighter, binding my limbs, pulling me to the ground. I try to rise, to fight, but my body betrays me, sinkingbeneath the weight of their curse, until I am kneeling, forced to bow before them, surrounded by this circle of enemies.

A slow, mocking clap echoes through the hall, slicing through the silence with a calculated cruelty that makes my blood run cold. The cloaked figures part, stepping back into the shadows, and footsteps approach, deliberate, heavy, and sickeningly familiar.

Ulric steps forward from the shadows behind me, his face smeared with blood, silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His lips curl into a smile as he studies my helpless form.

He draws close, his expression a twisted mask of victory.

“Brother.” His voice is a venomous whisper, thick with satisfaction, each word dripping with contempt. He crouches, leaning down until his face is level with mine, watching me with a gleam of unrestrained malice. “Did you really think I would allow you to escape so easily? Did you think, for one moment, that you could win this?”

His tone cuts through the air, filling it with a cold hatred honed over years—perhaps decades.

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