Chapter 77

Chapter 77
For a long moment, I stared at the flickering spell runes on the wall—then at Damian.

“So what do we do?” I whispered, hating the tremble in my voice.

“We leave in the morning,” he said. “We head for the Blackfang Rift.”

My eyes widened. “That’s... days away.”

“I know. But the last scout returned half-dead, speaking of a massive beast guarding a core—a magic stone unlike anything we’ve seen. Enough to heal my father. And maybe, enough to fight back.”

I nodded slowly, the weight of my father’s betrayal and the coming war sinking like cold iron into my bones. “Then I’m coming.”

Damian gave me a sharp look. “Are you sure?”

“You just said someone wants me dead. I’d rather not wait for them to knock politely.”

Three days later, we rode under storm-heavy skies.

Our caravan was small—two supply carts, half a dozen knights sworn to Damian, and Norma riding beside me with her usual no-nonsense expression. Annabelle had packed dried soup sachets and warm bread for the journey, insisting I eat even when I couldn’t stop thinking about the looming danger ahead—or behind.

The rain was constant. Not heavy, but persistent, a silver drizzle that turned roads to muck and soaked through even enchanted cloaks. In the far distance, the outline of Blackfang Mountain loomed like a jagged black tooth tearing into the horizon.

They said the creature inside the rift was ancient.

A drake of shadow and magma, its core pulsing with raw, volatile energy. Magic hunters had died just trying to get near it. And now we were marching straight toward it.

At night, we took turns on watch.

I couldn’t sleep. I could barely think. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father in a cloak, whispering treason to men I once knew as allies of the crown.

Was that why he abandoned me all those years? Was I just a pawn in a larger game?

Damian sat by the fire that night, his sword resting across his knees. He looked up when I approached.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head, then sat beside him.

For a while, we just listened to the crackle of flames and distant howls of riftborn creatures stirring far off in the woods.

“I know you’re angry,” he finally said. “And I know this hurts.”

I clenched my fists. “It’s beyond that. My own father might be plotting to kill you. And all I can think is—why now? Why me?”

Damian turned to look at me, eyes deep and searching. “Because you’re more powerful than they ever expected. And because you chose to stand by the crown. That makes you a threat.”

I laughed bitterly. “All I wanted was to study magic. Fix the king. And maybe find Alaric—if he’s still out there.”

Damian’s face darkened at the mention of Alaric, but he said nothing. Instead, he took my hand, gently.

“You’re not alone in this,” he said. “I’ll protect you, Abby. Even if it means going against the entire council.”

His fingers were warm despite the rain.

I looked into his eyes, and for the first time in days, I saw something other than fear.

I saw hope.

“Then let’s go find that beast,” I said. “And take its heart.”

He smiled grimly. “Together.”



Inside the Blackfang Rift

The sky above the Blackfang Rift cracked open with thunder as we crossed its jagged threshold, swallowed by shadow and cold. The rain followed us in, but as if cursed, it no longer fell in droplets—it became mist. A swirling, heavy, ash-scented fog that clung to our skin and refused to evaporate. Even the light from our mage lanterns could barely slice through the gloom.

Magic buzzed in the air like static. The world around us pulsed, alive in a wrong kind of way. The trees here were twisted, blackened husks of their former selves, and the rocks glowed faintly with crimson veins—raw mana exposed from within the rift's unnatural breach. Everything here screamed corruption.

“Shields up,” Damian ordered, his voice hoarse as he drew his blade. The silver gleamed like a pale ghost against the dark.

My heart pounded in my chest—not from fear, but from something deeper. Anger. Power. The betrayal of my father still boiled in my gut. I was not going to die here. I was going to take every stone, every secret from this cursed place and make it mine.

We ventured deeper into the rift’s scarred valley, and that’s when we heard them—low growls, followed by heavy, clawed steps echoing against stone.

Then they emerged.

A tide of orcs poured from the mist, their green-gray skin marred with jagged black scars and mana corruption. Their eyes glowed white. Magic-fused. Twisted by the rift’s power.

They charged.

I didn’t wait for orders.

Lightning exploded from my fingertips, crackling across the soaked ground like a living serpent. The blast hit the first wave of orcs head-on, blowing them apart in a concussive burst. Thunder roared in the heavens as my magic raged, my cloak flaring from the wind pressure of my spell.

Beside me, Damian let out a furious cry, swinging his sword in an arc that severed a goblin’s head clean from its shoulders. More goblins burst from the cliffs, their eyes full of madness, wielding crude enchanted blades that crackled red with unstable enchantments. They leapt from the shadows, screaming.

“LEFT!” I shouted.

Damian ducked and rolled just in time as a goblin blade missed his neck by inches. He retaliated with a quick thrust through the attacker’s chest and kicked the body away.

Blood sprayed across the wet earth. The rift was becoming a battleground.

Screams echoed around us—human and not. Sir Rorik fell with a shout, skewered by two corrupted orcs before they were blown apart by Norma’s earth shield and a blast from my lightning. She screamed something about revenge as she collapsed to her knees beside his body.

The fog thickened, becoming a beast itself, whispering lies in our ears, brushing fingers on our necks.

"Abby, break the mist!" Damian shouted.

I clenched my jaw, drawing my mana deep from my core. I extended both hands and screamed into the wind, “Stormcall: Sky Banishment!”

The ground shook. A dome of bright white lightning erupted from my body, blasting outward in every direction. The shadow mist screamed—yes, screamed—as it vaporized, torn apart by the purity of my spell. The battlefield became momentarily clear.

Dozens of orc and goblin bodies lay smoldering. Blood soaked the stones, slick and steaming. My arms trembled, and my nose bled from the effort.

Damian pulled me behind him, deflecting another attack. “You’re burning through your core!”

“I’m fine,” I lied.

He turned, blood trailing down his cheek, face wild with fury. “Don’t you dare collapse on me now.”

I shook my head and surged forward, hurling another bolt of lightning at a group of shadow hounds bounding toward us. They burst into fire and ash, their bones splintering from the force of the strike.

More kept coming.