Chapter 12: The Ghost Awakens
For a few heartbeats, no one reacts, our minds struggling to catch up with the reality of the twins' betrayal. Olly's face morphs from confusion to disbelief, then settles on a shaken sort of humour. "You two... spies for Lorentine? Really?" His chuckle is brittle, like too-thin glass. "That's rich. You almost had me."
But one look at Meli's face, at the cold, hard resolve glittering behind her eyes, extinguishes any hope of jest. Bile rises up my throat, thick and acidic.
Olly’s next words reach me as if I’m under the sand, garbled and indistinct. Meli and Tomas stand before me, stripped of our shared trust, now just Sovereign’s lackeys.
Meli's chin lifts, defiance in every line of her body. "It was never about you. Our mother... she was our only thought."
"What's your mother got to do with betraying us?" I say, my voice harsh, barbed with accusation.
Tomas steps forward, a weariness to him that wasn't there before. "We've been fighting an uphill battle for her life. The medicine she needs... it's beyond our reach. This was our only chance." His words are measured, honest.
"So, our backs were the best place for your knife?" My voice drips with acid.
"It was the only way," Tomas says, desperation threading through his firm stance. "Report on the expedition, and they'd give us the cure. Simple as that. We had to try."
Meli blinks fiercely, holding back tears. "We were lost... and they offered us a future for her. How could we not take it?"
I clench my fists, the dying embers of anger struggling to ignite. Yet, as Tomas and Meli face us, their shoulders hunched under the weight of their choices, the flames sputter out. In their eyes is raw desperation—no trace of malice, only a plea for understanding.
Lika, silent until now, shifts, her quietness not confusion but calculation. "There's always a choice," she says finally, her voice a calm counterpoint to the chaos.
The twins remain silent, hands moving to something hidden in their vests. In response, Lika draws a small, metallic object from her pack, eyes sharp and ready.
I hesitate, brushing my fingers around the cool glass object hidden in my cloak. Olly thinks it might contain a strange type of essence, but even if that's true, there's no way to predict its effects. I let go of the artefact. Not yet. There’s got to be another way.
Off to the side, hidden in the shadows, Olly is climbing up the crumbled wall towards the rotten beams that criss-cross above us. I suppress a shiver of unease as I watch him ascend, hands searching for purchase on the ancient stone. He's exposed up there, balanced precariously on the precipice between safety and a deadly plunge. But gaining the high ground gives him a chance to act that he wouldn't have on the ground with the rest of us. I'll buy him time, keep the twins' focus on me.
Balen's movement brings me back, the scrape of his boots on stone loud in the sudden silence. He positions himself with the confidence of a predator, hand already on his weapon. "Traitors," he says, deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. "I'll gut you both for this."
He unsheathes his blade with a rasp of metal.
A shadow of satisfaction creeps across my heart, a dark balm to the raw wound of betrayal. His eyes blaze with certainty, and it makes this all so much easier, less complicated. As much as we might despise each other, in this moment Balen and I are united in hatred for these turncoats. There is a fierce protectiveness in Balen's nature, ruthless and unforgiving toward any threats against those under his guard. And for this moment, despite my heritage, I’m included.
I step forward to stand beside Balen, hand drifting to my own dagger. "Reckon those pretty faces of yours could do with some rearranging," I say, trying to stoke enough fury to get me through this.
Meli and Tomas share a glance. It's fleeting, barely more than a heartbeat, and maybe I’m imagining it, but there’s regret in that look. A shared sorrow for what is about to unfold. For the first time, uncertainty flickers in their eyes.
They've made their decision, not out of malice, but survival—survival not just for themselves, but for someone they hold dearer than their own lives. Someone I don't have.
Tomas' hand trembles slightly as he reaches into his vest, a small vial clasped between his fingers. Meli mirrors his action, her own vial retrieved from within her cloak. Their movements are synchronised, a dance they've rehearsed in their minds a thousand times over. As they uncork the vials, their eyes meet once more.
In that moment, the air around us seems to thicken, time stretching thin. The twins' simultaneous intake of breath is the only sound, a prelude to the transformation they're about to undergo. They drink, and the potions disappear down their throats.
The transformation begins swiftly, magic coursing through their veins. I can almost see its progress in their eyes, their pupils dilating, bodies tensing as the potion takes hold. Power flows into them, awakening something that lay dormant within.
With a whispered word, blades manifest in their hands, forged from magic itself to wickedly sharp points. The signature of the Sword caste—the absolute worst opponents for Balen and I to face in close quarters. My guts twist as I grasp the full danger now arrayed against us.
As Balen readies his own mundane weapon, I spy Olly scaling the nearby wall out of the corner of my eye, feet scrabbling for purchase on the crumbling stone. He climbs with the desperation of cornered prey seeking any advantage the high ground might provide. Up above, amongst the cracked beams and crumbling archways, he just might be beyond the reach of the twins' blades. But a misstep means a deadly plunge to the unforgiving stone below. I pray his usual cat-like agility doesn't fail him now.
I force the distracting thought away. Focus on the threat before you, I tell myself sternly.
"I won't even need my magic to put you down," Balen says, knuckles white around the pommel of his dagger. But beneath the bravado, I can see him calculating the odds, which are stacked high against us.
Tomas raises his mystical blade, flames springing to life along its edge with a thought. The fire casts flickering shadows across his grim face. "Do not make us do this," he warns softly. "We will do whatever it takes to survive." The words are leaden with regret, but carry an undeniable promise of violence should we stand in their way.
The words send a chill through me, dredging up memories of flames and death. They were allies once, but that won't stop them from killing us if we block their path. I meet his stare, betraying none of the worry gnawing at my gut. "Then let's see who walks out alive." My voice comes out steady, belying the frantic hammering of my heart.
The ancient stones seem to hold their breath, bearing mute witness as we balance on the edge of a blade. Tomas's timeglass, squatting ugly and ominous behind him, continues its steady count, each falling grain bringing us closer to the end.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
There is a perverse sense of relief in the shedding of all pretence between us. No more wary glances or veiled suspicions—the lines are drawn. In this world of life or death struggles, there is no room for traitors within the ranks.
And then Balen... Balen does what Balen does. With a roar, he charges straight at Tomas, mundane steel clashing violently against fiery magical blade. Diplomacy lost to animal fury. No more words—just the language of blood and death now.
I shout Balen's name, but my voice is lost in the din. He is beyond reason, consumed by primal bloodlust. His recklessness shifts the balance, transforming cold standoff into hot violence.
The very foundations of the ruins tremble, echoing the ferocity of Balen and Tomas's confrontation. Dust cascades from the walls, and loose stones tumble free, a growing rain of debris shaken loose by the battle. I throw up an arm to shield my face from the choking cloud.
Balen throws everything he has at Tomas, slashing, dodging, hurling his body at their magic with reckless abandon. Sweat plasters his hair to his forehead, teeth bared in a snarl as he seeks any opening to drive his blade home.
The glass pyramid hums in my pocket, hungry for release. I resist its siren call. Not yet. There are still other paths forward.
I leap at Tomas, aiming a kick at his knee even as he spins, swinging his fiery blade in a great arc. I feel the singe of flames on my cheek as I narrowly dodge the attack, the heat blistering my skin in a near miss. The ferocity of his assault carries the promise of excruciating pain should his blade find its mark. I counter, swinging with all the force my desperation lends me, but he's already moving, a shadow I can't seem to strike.
Meli isn't far behind, her magic flaring bright and deadly. Flames leap from her fingertips, a fiery whip that seeks to sear flesh from bone. I throw myself to the side, the heat singeing the air before me, another near miss that sends adrenaline surging through my veins.
Every move I make, they counter with the ease of Sword castes forged in battle since childhood. Balen and I are out of our depth, but the thought of surrender never crosses my mind. We will take this fight to the bitter end.
The ground beneath us groans in protest. The grinding of shifting stones warns that the ruins are turning against us, threatening to swallow us into their depths. I seize a chunk of masonry torn loose in the fighting and hurl it at the twins, buying a brief respite.
"The floor won't hold much longer!" I shout. "Be ready to move!"
Balen gives no indication he heard me, fully fixated on Tomas. But Lika meets my eyes and nods, stance coiled tight, ready to act.
I launch myself back into the fray just as Meli aims a vicious slash at Balen's unprotected side, her blade cutting only air as he twists away. His movements are slowing against their unnatural speed, reactions dulled by exhaustion. How much longer can he hold out?
Lika acts first, sending the device from her pack sailing through the air toward the twins. It bursts in a blinding flash that momentarily overwhelms their enhanced senses. In the seconds of disorientation that follow, Lika shouts Olly's name.
He dislodges a heavy beam and sends it hurtling down to the twins below. They dodge, but the beam smashes into the stone floor with a resounding crack. The ground shudders, stones grinding against each other. Then, with a great rumble, the floor gives way under the twins, swallowing them into the yawning darkness below.
For a moment, hope flares—bright and fierce. Victory rises on the horizon, tantalisingly close. But it's snuffed out as quickly as it sparked. The twins emerge from the pit, defying gravity itself with their magic, landing with an ease that feels like a mockery of our efforts. Their eyes meet ours, cold and relentless. The fight is far from over.
Chaos escalates into disaster in the span of a heartbeat. Moving with blinding speed, Meli strikes like a viper, her blade finding its mark in Lika's side. The horrendous sound of steel slicing through flesh cuts deeper than any scream. Lika reels, shock painting her features, crimson blooming across her tunic as her hand presses desperately against the gushing wound.
Balen's response is immediate and primal. The vial of essence, his final gamble, is in his grasp one moment and down his throat the next. Power surges through him, an aura of raw energy enveloping him, his eyes burning with an unquenchable fire. "Die!" His roar is a battle cry, a vow of vengeance as he launches himself at the twins, movements infused with preternatural speed. With every slash, every strike he's telling me this isn't the time to hold back. We have no backup plan. It's fight with everything we have or surrender to something far worse than death.
His attacks come hard and fast, a barrage without thought for defence. Every blow he lands carries the weight of our shared betrayals, our collective grief and anger given form. It's a dance of destruction, Balen the six-armed god of vengeance at its centre.
If Balen has cast aside all caution, so must I. The glass artefact, mysterious and untested, is the only weapon left in my arsenal. As I draw it from my pocket, its surface is cool and smooth under my fingers. This remnant of ancient immortals could mean my salvation, or my end. "Balen's all in," I say, steeling myself for the leap. "Let's see what you've got."
"Balen, just a bit longer!" I call out, hoping my voice carries over the din. He shows no sign he’s heard, consumed by the fight.
The twins, undaunted, weave their magic tighter, barriers of fire and ice springing up around them. But Balen, empowered by essence, meets their magic head-on, shattering himself against their defences like waves breaking upon cliffs.
I urge the glass pyramid to unleash its potential. Nothing happens. Its secrets remain locked inside, power dormant and useless.
Meli's attack, a barrage of fiery shards, smashes into Balen, and flames engulf him. His screams carve through me, full of agony as he rolls desperately to extinguish the fire consuming him.
It’s over. Lika is slumped against the wall, every breath a wet rasp as blood seeps through her fingers. Balen lies unmoving, broken and burnt.
And Olly...Olly is on the ground, caught by Tomas' whip of fire before he could flee. Meli stands over him, blade pressed against his throat, a trickle of crimson welling at its tip.
There’s no heroism here. No glorious last stand. Just pain and desperation, the taste of failure bitter on my tongue. We'll be forgotten, like all the others who perished here, reduced to anonymous bones in this cursed place.
I stand on the precipice of decision, the artefact's cool surface pressed against the skin of my palm. It's a beacon of power, of potential salvation or doom. My heart hammers against my ribs. What if Olly is right, and I'm about to kill us all?
"Kormen, no. We'll find another way." Olly's strained plea cuts through the noise, his voice thick with fear—not for his own fate, but for what I'm about to unleash. His eyes, alight with that familiar fierce intelligence, fix on mine. Pleading. Questioning.
I want to believe him, to cast aside the artefact and stop the twins through courage or trickery. But the glass pyramid in my hand is heavier with possibility, more real than those fragile hopes. My heart races, a drumbeat of fear and uncertainty. "I... I don't know if we can."
The acknowledgement of my doubt, the admission of my fear, feels like a betrayal. Olly always looked to me for the plan, the way forward. Now, standing at the crumbling edge, I don’t know whether to jump or turn back.
Meli pushes her blade deeper into Olly’s neck, drawing another trickle of crimson. "Don't!" she says, but it's too late for warnings.
In defiance, I act, shattering the top of the glass pyramid against the stone floor. Golden liquid glimmers within.
The twins lunge, desperation lending speed to their movements as they try to stop what's coming. But they're too late.
I lift the artefact, and the liquid inside flows like molten gold, impossibly cold against my lips yet burning as it descends my throat. The world around me dims, its colours and sounds bleeding into the background until I'm left floating in a silent void. Power engulfs me, an invisible tempest swirling around my core, each pulse numbing my senses further, drawing me down into an icy abyss.
It courses through my veins, a wildfire melting my foundations to slag. My senses flare to a razor's edge even as my body becomes disconnected, a vessel for the essence storming through it. The onslaught of sensation is beyond description—exquisite agony and ecstasy mingled into one.
I'm dimly aware of Balen's wide eyes locked onto mine, reflecting a mix of horror and fascination. Lika's gaze, despite the pain that mars her features, holds a silent plea for understanding. And Olly...Olly looks at me with unwavering trust shining through his fear, silently urging me to endure this trial.
Their faces tether me as I'm plunged deeper into the maelstrom. At its heart, a presence stirs, ancient and glacial. It brushes against my mind, and I recoil instinctively. But escape is impossible now.
Amidst the chaos, a voice whispers directly into my thoughts, quiet yet deafening. It resonates through my bones like the ringing of a terrible bell.
"Welcome, Ascendant," it says, the words shaped from the void between stars. It wraps around my struggling mind, ancient and inexorable. "We will accomplish great things together."