Page 179 of Warlord's Plaything

Bloodied.

Bruised.

On his knees, his sword shaking in his grip, eyes locked onto mine.

But not in anger.

Not in rage.

In desperation.

He knows.

He sees what’s happening.

He knows I’m slipping.

And if I do?—

If I give in?—

I will be lost.

"He’s lying to you."Xyron’s voice is hoarse, raw, but unrelenting."You are not like him. You never will be."

But Kaelith laughs."Oh, but she is."He raises a hand, and the darkness inside the temple trembles, reaching toward me."You have always been. You were made for war. You were born for destruction. And you will never be satisfied until the world burns beneath your feet."

His voice sinks into my bones, a seduction wrapped in certainty."Deny it all you want, but the truth remains. You are not a savior. You are not a hero. You are meant to rule beside me, to wield death as your weapon. So stop fighting it. Stop fighting yourself. And become what you were always meant to be."

The darkness tightens around my limbs.

Clawing.

Digging.

Trying to pull me under.

And for a moment?—

I almost let it.

He is right.

There is something in me that craves the destruction.

A part of myself that does not want to stop.

It wants to kill, to burn, to take my place as something more.

Then I hear it.

Not Kaelith’s voice.

Not Xyron’s.

Not the whispers of the dead.

But her voice.

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