Page 192 of Severed Heir

My fists clenched, the shadows roiling beneath my skin.“No. No. I don’t believe you.”

“Then you are a fool,” Rok sneered, lifting the first sword. “We will fight to protect Verdonia from the corruption of forbidden quells and the Forgotten’s rule.”

He raised both arms high.

Ellison summoned flame, his eyes glowing bright and frenzied, as if his body no longer answered to him. “It’s not me,” he whispered, staring at the fire writhing in his palms. “I’m not in control.”

Rok turned to me, extending a hand.

Flame flared in my chest, wild and feral. He was siphoning our powers.

“Rok, stop,” I said. “This isn’t right. We don’t want war.”

But the shadows I’d kept locked down for weeks surged forward, coiling around my arms like starving vines.

“Who better to fight for the Continent,” Rok shouted, “than the heirs chosen by the academy that cast out the Forgotten?”

He raised his arms to the sky.

“It began with the first six gods,” he roared. “First came Soliath’s ice—shredding their flesh!”

Bridger reacted instinctively. His arm snapped forward, and jagged shards of ice burst from his palm, cutting through the advancing Forgotten with brutal precision.

“And flame,” Rok bellowed, “sealed the barriers!”

Ash erupted from Ellison’s hands, coiling into searing ribbons that sliced through the fog and scorched the cloaked soldiers ahead.

A scream split the air and the battle began.

Rok moved like a conductor of chaos, tearing the heirs’ quells from their cores, unleashing them like living weapons. One by one, we were turned into tools of a war we didn’t choose.

“Then,” Rok breathed, “came darkness.”

Kian stumbled forward. Shadows spilled from his palms, coiling like nooses around the necks of Forgotten soldiers. Screams echoed through the snow-choked silence.

“No!” I cried, fists trembling. “I won’t fight.”

A dagger sliced into my shoulder and slammed me to the ground. Pain ripped through my ribs as another blade struck fast and clean, piercing my side. I felt the wet warmth spread.

I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop any of it.

“Severyn!” Damien’s voice broke through the chaos. He crashed past the guards, blood smearing his cheek. “You’re losing control.”

“I know,” I gasped, the words torn from my throat. “I can’t stop him.”

“They want you to break,” he said, dropping beside me. “They want Demetria to fall for a girl who doesn’t even believe she’s worth saving.”

“I’m not,” I choked, barely able to form the words. My hands shook so badly I could barely lift them.

He reached for me, his voice steady despite the madness around us. “You’re scared. And you hate me.” His eyes searched mine. “But if you give in to this, you’ll prove them right.”

“I do hate you.”

“Then use it,” he said. “Not the fear. The hate. Be angry, Severyn. Not at yourself, not this time. Be angry at me. Because I failed you. I ruined whatever we were, and I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“I am,” I hissed. “You let me believe you were dead. You knew Kian was leaking information and you did nothing. You killed Malachi.”

“He’s my brother,” Damien said quietly. “And you’re fighting."

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