Page 2 of The Eternal Mirror
“You severed the bond,” I say, trying to keep my tone even.
He nods. Calm. Detached. “It seemed for the best.”
“You will destroy everything we built.”
He shrugs. “If you stay, then Valandria will survive.”
“But not Astrali—it will vanish as though it never existed. What of our children? You will destroy them all?” I shake my head. “You should have spoken to me.”
“I did. You wouldn't listen. The time for words is over. We have a different dream now.”
I grit my teeth. “You can’t do this.”
A slow smile curves his lips. “Watch me.” And he turns and walks toward the mirror.
“Wait,” I shout.
He turns and raises one eyebrow.
“You don’t get to make the choice alone,” I say.
“I do now. There is nothing to keep us together. You can stay here. Enjoy the world you created. You don’t need me. You never did.” His voice is full of apathy. But he’s been like this for a long time. I thought it would pass.
“I love you,” I say.
He looks at me with pity. “You never really loved me. It was the mating bond. Nothing else kept us together. And now it’s gone. I feel nothing.”
But I do. I’m drowning in rage. “You’re not leaving.”
His eyes flicker, then he turns away once more. “You can’t stop me.”
He truly believes that, but I have always been more powerful. And I will show him differently. I cannot use the celestial fire against him; his dark magic will repel it. But I have other ways of fighting. I reach inside myself, and shift.
Silver fire blazes around me. My form twists—hooves crash to the earth, wings unfurl wide, horn gleaming like moon-forged steel. My mane whips with starlight and storm. He stops and turns slowly, eyes widening. But I can already feel the heat building under his skin.
He shifts. Wings like obsidian. Scales crackling with inner flame.
We rise into the sky.
And then we fight.
He is darkness. I am light. We rip the air apart.
Forests fall. Rivers boil. Stars blink out in the wake of our fury. We crash and circle and break and clash again.
He’s physically stronger. But I’m angry.
He underestimates that. And me.
He always has.
He dives. I feint. His claws miss by inches. I twist, spin, drive forward. My horn pierces scale. Bone. Flesh.
I drive it straight through his heart.
He gasps. Shudders. And then I wrench him off me with a scream of pain and fury and something else—something I don’t want to name.
He’s hurled backward through space. His body slams into the mirror frame.
