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The guards’ attack intensifies. Their light weapons pierce the stag’s crystalline limbs with the sharp crack of breaking glass. Fracture lines spread across its transparent body, splintering outward from points of impact.

Amalia struggles to reach the creature, her hand outstretched toward its failing form. The Opal veins beneath her skin throb in rhythm with its exposed heart, and she flinches with every blow to the stag, its pain echoing through her body.

Three more guards circle behind, cutting off my path to Kelaros. Their movements flow with unnatural coordination.

The crystal beneath my boots vibrates, responding to the court’s distress. Fissures appear in the once-perfect floor, spreading outward in fractal patterns.

A guard stumbles as the ground shifts beneath him, and I seize the opportunity.

Silver magic erupts from my palm, catching him in the chest. Frost covers his armor instantly, spreading inward until his movements grow sluggish, then cease altogether.

“Theron!” Amalia’s shout pierces the cacophony of breaking crystal. “We can’t let them kill it! This could save more than the court!”

I spin toward her. Three guards have closed in, their weapons forming a cage of light around her. Opal’s power flows through her now, threads climbing her neck to trace her jaw and temples, her transformation accelerating with the court’s panic.

“You never intended to save Elionn,” I snarl at Kelaros. “This was your plan from the beginning.”

He shrugs, shoulders rising and falling with elegant indifference. “Your brother was collateral damage in a larger game, just as my brethren were.”

My magic surges with my rage, Silver light erupting around me in a corona of power. Two more guards freeze where they stand, frost forming across their armor in elaborate patterns.

But for every guard I stop, another steps forward. Their light spears strike the stag’s legs, severing crystalline tendons into shimmering splinters of dust. The creature roars, the sound beyond hearing, its vibration reaching the core of my being.

I struggle toward Amalia, battling through guards who refuse to stay down. Thalindor’s mirror-shield reflects attack after attack, its surface growing scored with each deflected blow.

The hollow stag kicks out, wounded but magnificent. Its crystalline form catches every beam of light and returns it a hundredfold.

The guards strike out, but they do not aim for a death blow, instead striking at the slender legs and crystal joint to bring it down. The heart inside its ribcage fluctuates at an erratic pace.

Pain twists through Amalia as one hand clutches her chest, where a fragment of the same power dwells. “The Opal. If they take it⁠—”

A guard lunges past Thalindor’s defense, his blade slicing across Amalia’s arm. Blood wells, paler than human blood should be, gleaming with opal threads.

The stag reacts to her pain, its massive head swinging toward her attacker. Antlers catch the guard, lifting him skyward before flinging him across the grove. His body impacts with a crystal tree with a sickening crunch before sliding to the ground, motionless.

But the momentary defense costs the stag. Two guards plunge blades of light deep into its flank, and the creature’s legs buckle beneath it. Crystal splinters rain down, their delicate chimes at odds with the violence of their fall.

Kelaros abandons the safety of his position and steps forward, his fingers splayed as if already grasping the prize within its chest.

“No!” I roar, Silver magic flowing from my outstretched hands. The temperature plummets around us, frost coating every surface in a desperate attempt to halt the inevitable.

Amalia drives a dagger through the armor of one of her attackers and rushes toward the failing guardian. Her hand connects with its crystalline flank, and for a moment, Opal light passes between them, Amalia giving strength rather than taking it.

The stag’s empty sockets fix on her, recognition and gratitude passing between them before its body begins to come apart.

Pain lances through my chest, not mine, but hers. Through the bond granted by the sithean stone, Amalia’s agony becomes my own, her connection to the dying stag manifesting. It steals my breath and nearly brings me to my knees.

“Stop Kelaros!” Desperation drives Amalia’s warning through the chaos. “The stag is the anchor! Killing it will destroy everything!”

The stag continues to fracture despite her warning, each breaking piece sending new waves of pain through our connection. My vision blurs, Silver magic stuttering around my fingers as I struggle to maintain control.

Thalindor appears at my side, blood streaming from a cut above his eye. “Your Majesty, we must retreat.”

“Not without Elionn,” I snarl, pushing forward toward where Kelaros stands with arms outstretched toward the failing creature. “Not without stopping this.”

Three guards block my path, their weapons forming an impenetrable barrier between me and my target. They advance in perfect unison, forcing me back toward the edge of the grove.

“Return to your sithe, Silver King,” one orders. “Our command is to kill the stag, not you.”