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FRAGMENTS OF A REALM
THERON
“King Theron,” Amalia says, her distress clear in the furrow of her opal brow. “What will we do now? The only remaining mirror was smashed after Kelaros and I left last time, and the shield…”
I force my attention away from her and my brother, still locked in an embrace that ignites dark possessiveness within me.
Jealousy serves no purpose here.
Only survival does.
My fingers curl around Thalindor’s shield, tracing the fractures spiderwebbing across its once-perfect surface. Our final hope, damaged but not destroyed.
“We can repair this,” I announce, lifting the shield higher.
Elionn turns toward me, his arm still around Amalia’s waist. Some of his old vitality has returned, a spark I feared lost forever. “The portal magic should still linger in the frame.”
Amalia steps closer, Opal light pulsing beneath her transformed skin. The sight of her, half-claimed by the court yet fighting its influence with every breath, stirs emotions I cannot afford to examine right now.
“Can you channel enough power through it without Kelaros noticing?” The question reaches me in a strange double echo, Amalia and the court intertwined in every syllable.
I place the shield on the ground, kneeling beside it. “The blooming has created a temporary stability. The court’s attention divides itself between Kelaros and the new growth.”
Around us, crystal flowers continue to spread across the chamber floor, their delicate structures catching light in prismatic bursts. The sight of them fills me with both hope and an ache so profound it burns. They bloomed from their connection, from their kiss, while hunger and envy churned in my gut.
The shield’s surface ripples under my touch, responding to Royal blood. “Thalindor, I’ll need to release the protective barrier. The court will sense us immediately.”
My guard positions himself between us and the corridor, sword drawn. “How long, Your Majesty?”
“Too long,” I mutter, gathering Silver magic between my palms. “But we have no other option.”
To drop our only defense is to invite the court’s chaos, and the longer we linger here, the less likely our escape becomes. But the crystal flowers now in bloom offer their own protection, a temporary zone of stability born from the union of Silver and Opal magics.
I steady myself, concentrating on the Silver fire that forms our protective bubble. Slowly, I withdraw it, pulling the power back into myself. The sensation leaves me lightheaded, magic flooding my system faster than I can channel it elsewhere.
The chamber trembles as our protection vanishes, crystal dust shaking loose from the ceiling. A distant roar echoes through the corridors as Kelaros senses our vulnerability.
“He comes,” Elionn warns, his body tensing despite his weakness.
“Then we work quickly.” My hands hover over the cracked shield, Silver fire gathering at my fingertips. “Amalia, your blood may strengthen the connection.”
She doesn’t hesitate, drawing her dagger across her palm without flinching. Blood wells, brighter than human blood should be, threaded with Opal light that catches the crystal dust floating around us.
“Where?”
I point to the largest crack. “There, where the break is deepest.”
Her blood drips onto the shield’s surface, sizzling on contact. The silver backing devours it, and the fractures begin to glow with a mixture of silver and Opal light.
“More,” I urge, pouring Silver magic into the shield alongside her blood.
The repair requires concentration I’ve rarely needed, but so far from the Moonwell, after already expending so much, even a task that should be as easy as breathing demands effort. Silver threads flow from my fingers, weaving through microscopic fissures, binding shattered pieces with threads finer than spider silk.
Sweat beads on my forehead as the court crowds my awareness, curious about this unfamiliar magic, this healing rather than consuming.
I shut it out, focusing only on the shield beneath my hands.
