Page 62 of Bound to the Dorm Elf
The wind kicks up, howling between the buildings, carrying with it the tang of ozone and scorched air. My father’s magic lashes out first, a probing strike meant to test my defenses. I meet it with a burst of my own, the clash ringing in the air like steel on steel even though no blades have touched yet.
The ground under our feet shivers. The taste of iron is sharp in my mouth.
I hear Skylar’s quick inhale, but she doesn’t move back.
This isn’t just a fight for survival—it’s a reckoning. Years of resentment, betrayal, and choices that cut deeper than any blade are about to come spilling into the open. And now she’s here for it, tethered to me by something I don’t have the luxury of naming.
When the real strike comes—when steel and spell meet for the first time—it will decide more than who walks away from this courtyard.
It will decide which world I belong to.
CHAPTER 22
SKYLAR
The first blast of magic rips the night wide open.
It’s not subtle—not some delicate thread of power like I’ve seen Rovax use when he’s hiding. This is raw, roaring, and bright enough to sear the back of my eyes. Purple fire lances between them, snapping like a live wire, leaving jagged black scars in the quad’s cracked pavement. The smell hits next—ozone and something harsher, metallic, like burning steel.
I’m crouched behind one of the cement planters, the cold edge biting into my knees, my breath coming fast and shallow. Every instinct I have is screamingmove, run,but my feet are glued. I can’t look away.
Rovax is a storm. There’s no other word for it.
The glamour is gone—burned away by the sheer force pouring off him. His skin gleams like polished obsidian under the moonlight, runes along his arms flaring gold with each strike. His eyes are pure, burning red, and they lock on his father with a focus that makes my pulse trip over itself. Every movement is sharp, deliberate, a predator testing the air before it lunges.
Razarak… gods, he’s worse. Bigger than Rovax by a head, broader through the shoulders, his armor glinting with thatsame black sheen. His face is carved from the same ruthless lines, but older, heavier—like every cruelty he’s ever committed has settled into the bone. He fights like someone who’s never had to doubt victory, his magic cutting through the air in brutal arcs that make the ground quake.
The noise is relentless—thunderclaps of impact, the hiss of something sizzling as it eats into the earth, the deep, unholy hum of power vibrating in my chest.
A strike from Razarak sends Rovax skidding backward, boots tearing furrows in the grass. My heart stops—until he twists with the momentum, planting his foot and hurling a blade of energy back at his father. It shatters against a shield of dark magic, shards of light spinning off into the night.
I grip the edge of the planter so hard my fingers ache. I’ve never seen Rovax fight like this—unbound, uncalculated. Every ounce of restraint I’ve come to associate with him is gone, replaced with something fierce and desperate.
And I can’t tell if that desperation is because of me.
Another clash sends a shockwave that rattles my teeth. Bits of loose gravel ping against my legs. My ears are ringing now, but I can still hear Razarak’s voice—low, taunting, every syllable meant to cut. I can’t make out the words, but I see the effect they have. Rovax’s jaw tightens, his grip on his weapon shifts, and the next strike comes faster, harder.
Awe twists in my gut, sharp with fear. I knew he was dangerous, but this… this is something else entirely. He’s power in motion, relentless and terrifying, and I can’t decide whether I want to run from it or throw myself closer.
Another blast, another tremor underfoot. The air tastes charged now, like a storm just before lightning strikes, and it’s impossible to breathe deeply.
Rovax closes the distance, their blades—steel and magic both—sparking as they meet. The impact jolts through the air, a deepvibration I feel in my bones. His father shoves him back, but Rovax is already there again, relentless, fighting like the only outcome he’ll accept is putting Razarak on the ground.
And somewhere under all the terror coiling tight in my chest, I’m proud. Proud and terrified, because I know the look in his eyes.
He’s not just fighting to win.
He’s fighting because losing isn’t an option—not when I’m here to see it.
I sink lower behind my cover, my nails digging into my palms, and pray to a god I’ve never believed in that when the dust settles, it’s Rovax still standing.
The moment I realize the strike is meant for me, my body freezes.
It’s not aimed at Rovax at all—it’s slicing past him, straight toward where I’m crouched behind the planter. A ribbon of violet fire, jagged and hungry, ripping the air apart on its way to me.
I barely have time to gasp before he moves.
The runes on his arms ignite—brighter than I’ve ever seen them, each line of gold burning like molten metal under his skin. They hum with a sound that’s not quite audible, a vibration that hits somewhere deep in my ribs. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even glance back. One second he’s locked with his father, the next he’s between me and the incoming death, one arm outstretched as the blast slams into a barrier of light.
