Page 109 of Shadows of Change

"Not the time, Finn." But Malrik's silver eyes haven't left me since the transformation, and something in his gaze makes my heart skip. He sees it all—not just the power, but theunderstanding behind it. The way my sisters move with me now, as extensions of myself.

The Heart of Eternity glows gently against my chest, steady and sure. There's still so much I don't understand about my heritage, these wings, about what being a Valkyrie truly means. But for the first time since my shadows—my sisters—appeared, I'm not afraid of the unknown.

"This changes nothing." Thorne spits from where he lies defeated. His voice cracks with desperate fury. "You have no idea what's coming. What he has planned—"

"Save it." I cut him off, and my sisters ripple with shared conviction. Each one moves with new purpose—Bob taking a defensive stance, Patricia analyzing the scene, Finnick ready to strike. Not just shadows anymore, but warriors remembering who they are. "We'll be ready."

Thorne staggers to his feet, dark energy crackling weakly around his hands. "This isn't over," he snarls. "He's coming, and when he does—"

My sisters surge forward as one, moving with renewed purpose. But Thorne slams his staff into the ground, unleashing a final blast of corrupted magic. By the time the air clears, he's gone, leaving only a lingering trace of tainted power to mark where he stood.

"Should we go after him?" Finn asks, but Malrik shakes his head.

"He's using the old shadow paths," Malrik explains grimly. "We'd never catch him now."

A weak cough draws our attention. Darian lies crumpled against the far wall, his attempted betrayal of Thorne having costhim dearly. Blood trickles from his nose, his magic flickering erratically around him.

"Please," he whispers as we approach. "I didn't—I didn't know what he really wanted. What he was planning..."

My wings flare instinctively, casting dancing shadows across his face. But it's my sisters who make him flinch—not with their power, but with their unity, their ancient purpose. Everything he tried to document and control reduced to nothing in the face of true understanding.

"We're not going to kill you, Darian."

"No," Malrik agrees, his voice cold. "The academy has cells beneath the Archives. Ancient ones, warded against magic. The board can decide what to do with him."

71. Kaia

When the academy guards arrive, summoned by the magical backlash of our battle, they take one look at my wings, at the visible shadows moving with clear purpose around me, and hesitate.

"Take him to the cells," Malrik commands, and something in his voice—something that sounds like generations of shadow realm authority—makes them snap to attention.

As they lead Darian away, his final whisper catches in the air: "I really did care, you know. That wasn't all a lie."

My wings draw close, not hiding me but supporting me. My sisters coil around me with gentle certainty, their touch cool and familiar. Bob pats my ankle with the awkward comfort of a warrior unused to gentleness. Patricia's frantic documentation now carries the weight of recording history. Even Finnick's chaotic movements have purpose—a soldier's readiness wrapped in levity.

"The board will want answers," Malrik says quietly. "About all of this."

"Let them ask." I watch Darian disappear into the depths of the academy. "I have nothing to hide anymore."

But as my wings settle against my back and my sisters swirl in perfect harmony, I can't help wondering: what else did Thorne take with him when he fled? And what plans was he so desperate to protect?

Looking at my shadows—at Bob's steady presence, Patricia's meticulous wisdom, at all of them who chose to become part of me—I know one thing for certain. Whatever comes next, we face it not as master and servants, not even as guardian and ward, but as what we truly are: family, bound by choice and sacrifice.

My wings might be new, but my real power has been here all along: in every sister who chose to bind their soul to mine, in every friend who chose to stand beside me. In all the different ways love becomes strength.

I am Valkyrie. And I am not alone.

I never was.

Everything feels different. The air buzzes against my skin like static, tiny sparks prickling along my arms and legs, and my shadows move with a fluid grace that feels almost alive, shifting around me like a second skin. The wings—my wings—a comforting warmth against my back, somehow both solid and ethereal, as if they exist between worlds, bound by light and shadow. They carry a weight of permanence yet feel weightless, every shift as effortless as a breeze moving through air. When I breathe, they shift with me, as natural as blinking and just as unconscious.

"You know," Finn says, his voice still shaky but trying for normal, "when I said you needed to spread your wings, this wasn't exactly what I meant."

I try to laugh, but it comes out strangled. My shadows curl around my ankles reassuringly. Bob actually pats my foot, which would be funny if I wasn't so overwhelmed.

Malrik hasn't stopped staring, his silver eyes following every movement of my wings as they shift and stretch behind me. There's something raw and unguarded in his gaze, a vulnerability I'm not used to seeing from him. He meets my eyes, his voice low and reverent. "Gods, you're beautiful."

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fight the instinct to look away, unwilling to let the weight of his words undo me. Before I can respond, Malrik clears his throat, his composure snapping back into place. From behind us, I hear Finn's barely contained snicker, the sound breaking the tension just enough to ground me again.

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