Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 195876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 979(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 653(@300wpm)
Raith nods. "Specialized teams for operations too sensitive or too brutal for regular military. Assassinations. Sabotage. Elimination of undesirable elements." His eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. "The windborne specifically excel at stealth. Whoever is behind this doesn't want anyone to know they were ever here."
"Empire's invisible hand," Ambrose adds, his academic tone belied by the tremor in his voice. "I found references to them in ancient military texts—they specialize in air magic manipulation that allows them to move with unnatural speed and stealth. Methods of killing that leave almost no trace."
My attention turns back to Serena. "Why should we believe any of this? You're admitting you want us dead, but we're supposed to just... what? Trust you?"
Serena's expression hardens, her eyes flashing with barely contained anger. "I want to win fairly. That's what Empire stands for—honor in combat, victory through strength and strategy. Not... this." She gestures to the weapons with clear disdain, her perfect features contorted with genuine disgust. "Sneaking elite killers into a school competition? Magical blackouts to hide evidence? That's not Empire. That's cowardice, and I won't be a part of it. You don’t need to trust a thing. But I’ll know I gave you enough information to make the fight fair. I’ll know my honor isn’t stained when I kill you myself."
Through our tether, I feel Raith's skepticism, but also a grudging respect for Serena's apparent principles. His own code might differ from hers, but he recognizes conviction when he sees it.
I study her face, looking for deception but finding only disgust and what might be genuine concern. The perfect fire affinity with her flawless features and deadly grace, suddenly showing a moral line she won't cross. It's unexpected enough to make me wonder if this is all an elaborate trap.
"Are you expecting us to thank you, now?" I ask. "Because it's not happening."
She laughs, the sound sharp and mirthless. "Hardly. When the Crucible begins, I'll still be hunting you with the others. But I'll do it honorably, with skill against skill, magic against magic. The only thanks I need is for you to be living when I find you." Her orange eyes meet mine with unflinching intensity.
"What does Malakai think of your pursuit of honor?" Raith asks.
Serena's expression shifts, showing the slightest hint of uncertainty. "Malakai serves his own agenda. I serve Empire. Sometimes those interests align, sometimes they don't." She steps away from the weapons, moving toward the door with predatory grace. "Do what you want with these. They won't help you against me. They certainly won't save you if the windborne find you first."
And then she's gone, slipping out of the room and disappearing into the darkness beyond, leaving us standing in stunned silence.
"That was... unexpected," Mireen says finally, the water she'd been gathering dissipating into mist.
"Do we trust her?" Ambrose asks, pushing his glasses up nervously.
"No," Raith says immediately, his hand relaxing its grip on his sword hilt. "But that doesn't mean she's lying. And we're still here with the weapons, whether we trust her or not about the rest."
"Her disgust seemed genuine," Ambrose notes, adjusting his glasses thoughtfully. "Some people value honor above all else."
"It's also possible this is an elaborate trap," Mireen counters, eyes narrowed in thought. "Maybe she wants to trick Nessa into revealing too much during the Crucible. Maybe giving us the weapons was just bait to make us think we can trust her about the rest?"
I feel Raith's calculated assessment—a cool, analytical part of him that seems to be weighing each possibility with practiced precision. It reminds me again that there's more to him than the fierce protector I've come to know. There's something methodical, strategic beneath the surface.
"I think I believe her," I say, moving toward the weapons. "It all lines up. She just cares about loyalty to Empire and her own ambitions.”
“This magical interference,” Typhon rumbles in my mind. “I will be able to sense if it exists or not.”
I grin. “And Typhon says he’ll know if she’s telling the truth about the magical interference. If she was, then Typhon could fight beside us in his true form. I could use my unbound powers freely. It would be a huge advantage on our side.”
"Show these insignificant humans what a true ancient looks like. Strike terror into their weak hearts."
For a moment, the thought is dizzyingly liberating. I may be free during the Crucible. Free to defend myself and the people I care about with every tool I have at my disposal.
And yet...
Raith's hand finds my shoulder, his touch grounding me as his concern flows into me. “That still leaves the problem of the windborne. They’re trained killers, not students. If they're in the Crucible, people won't just die—they'll be executed. Ancient or not, I don't even know if Typhon could stop them from getting to you. Not yet. None of us are trained enough."