Page 109 of Stolen
Some stare at the bodies of their own kin lying among the fallen, and it’s like they can’t even see them.
But the others can. Even now, I can hear the weeping.
It cuts through the quiet aftermath like a blade—mothers calling for children, lovers wailing over still forms.
Families who sought refuge behind our walls now crawl through rubble and ash to find the ones they couldn’t protect.
Cloth is laid gently over lifeless bodies. Names whispered like prayers.
My heart cracks wide open.
I glance at Alaric, and even without meeting his eyes, Ifeelit—through our bond, pulsing low and steady in my chest.
This is wrecking him.
Every broken body. Every scream. Every reminder that the SoulTakers came here to wage war on the Eyrie. That Alaric’s strength, though mighty, is not omnipotent and he cannot protect everyone.
He bears it like he bears everything else. Head high, spine straight, expression unreadable.
But I know him now.
And I can feel the storm behind the silence.
He aches for them.
So I reach deep inside myself and send him what strength I have. I don’t know if it’s enough, but I push it into the thread of silver light that connects us.
My love. My steadiness. My presence.
And I feel him catch it.
He doesn’t falter, not even for a second, but I feel the way his breath hitches.
The way his soul curls around the gift like a man gripping a lifeline in a flood.
Thank you,the bond whispers back.
Emotion clutches my throat, and tears sting my eyes—not for me, but for him.
For all of us.
Because we are still standing.
And somehow, against impossible odds, we’re stilltogether.He squeezes my hand before stepping away.
“We must bind them,” Alaric says to his brothers, his voice like thunder. “But do not harm them.”
His magic surges forward, silver and furious.
The others follow suit. And I stand there breathless, as I watch them.
Earth, flame, water, and wind weaving together as glowing chains rise from the stone itself to wrap around the captured enemy forces.
I watch, wide-eyed, as some of the bound begin to sway and fall to their knees, confusion breaking over their faces like morning light through fog.
“What is this?” one mutters, blinking slowly. “Where am I?”
“They’ve been bespelled,” Alaric says grimly. “This is SoulTaker magic. Twisted. Ancient. They’ve enslaved Demons to do their bidding. Not one of these is a true SoulTaker.”
