Elara Vance held Elian's face as if she were trying to memorize it for a second time. Her thumbs, stained with charcoal and ink, traced the line of his jaw and the arch of his brow.
"You have your father's chin," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But your eyes... those are the Queen's. The Violet Flame."
"Elara," Elian said gently, covering her hands with his own. "We don't have much time. The Eclipse is tomorrow. The Rite begins at noon."
At the mention of the Rite, Elara flinched violently. She scrambled backward, her eyes widening in renewed terror. She pointed a shaking finger at the scribbles on the floor—the chaotic star charts she had been obsessing over for twenty years.
"Noon," she hissed. "The alignment. The Great Syzygy. She isn't just resealing the Void, my King. She is inverting it."
Vane stepped forward, his boots crunching on the scattered parchment. "Explain. What do you mean, inverting it?"
Elara crawled toward a diagram drawn in red chalk. It showed two circles—a sun and a moon—overlapping. But arrows pointed outward from the center.
"The Rite of Solstice usually draws power from the Sun to push the darkness back," Elara explained, her words spilling out fast and feverish. "It is a shield. But Valeriana... she has tweaked the variables. She doesn't want to push the darkness back. She wants to consume it."
She looked up at Vane, her expression grave.
"She is a Lunar Mage. She feeds on entropy. If she uses a Source Mage—a true Solar battery—to anchor the spell, she can reverse the flow. She won't just seal the breach. She will drain the sun into herself. She will become a god of twilight. Eternal youth. Eternal power."
"And the sun?" Elian asked, his stomach churning.
"Extinguished," Elara whispered. "Aethelgard will fall. The Wards will freeze. The world will be hers, cold and silent forever."
Silence descended on the Bone Temple. The gravity of the situation settled on them like a shroud. This wasn't just about saving a city anymore; it was about saving the star that kept them all alive.
"She needs a battery to do it," Vane said, his voice hard as flint. "She needs Elian."
"She will drink you dry," Elara wept, reaching for Elian again. "She will burn you until your soul is nothing but ash. You cannot go back there."
"I have to," Elian said, standing up. He pulled Elara to her feet. She was light, frail as a bird. "Because if I don't, she wins. She kills everyone I love."
He looked at Vane. "We're leaving. Now."
Vane nodded. "Can you walk, Elara?"
"I will crawl if I have to," the midwife said, a spark of her old steel returning to her eyes. "I hid you once, boy. I will not let that woman undo my life's work."
The descent from the Silent Spire was faster than the climb, driven by the whip of necessity. They moved down the winding stairs, the wind tearing at their clothes. Vane took point, clearing the path of any lingering Echoes with swift, brutal strikes of his sword, while Elian supported Elara.
When they reached the docks, the Nightshade was waiting, rocking impatiently in the dark water.
"Get her below," Vane ordered, vaulting onto the deck. "I'm engaging the overdrive."
"The overdrive?" Elian asked, helping Elara onto the gangplank. "You said the crystals were unstable."
"We have eighteen hours to make a three-day journey," Vane shouted, running to the helm. "Stable is a luxury we can't afford. Strap in!"
Elian settled Elara in the captain's cabin, wrapping her in the fur quilts near the mag-fire stove. She clutched the sun-glass rattle to her chest, rocking back and forth, muttering equations.
"You're safe here," Elian promised her. "Just rest."
He ran back up to the deck.
Vane was at the wheel. He had opened a panel on the console, exposing the raw, pulsing heart of the mag-drive mechanism. He was pouring a vial of silver liquid directly into the crystal matrix.
"Liquid mana," Vane explained, seeing Elian's look. "It's like feeding pure caffeine to a heart patient. It will make the ship fly, but it might also melt the keel."
"Do it," Elian said, grabbing the railing.
Vane slammed the panel shut and punched the throttle forward.
The Nightshade didn't just accelerate; it leaped. The prow lifted out of the water, skimming the surface on a cushion of raw magic. The wind roared, a deafening scream that tore the breath from their lungs. The dark cliffs of the Obsidian Isles blurred and vanished behind them in seconds.
They were flying across the ocean, leaving a wake of boiling white foam.
The Final Night
The journey was a blur of speed and tension. The Nightshade vibrated constantly, the wood groaning under the stress of the unnatural velocity.
Elian stood at the bow, watching the horizon. The sun was beginning to rise—the dawn of the final day. The sky was a bruised purple, bleeding into red.
"You should eat," Vane said, appearing beside him. He held out a piece of hardtack and a flask of water.
Elian took it but didn't eat. "I'm not hungry."
"You need strength," Vane insisted. "If you face her weak, she will crush you."
Elian forced himself to take a bite. It tasted like sawdust. "Vane, if we get there... if we get into the Throne Room... what happens?"
"We present Elara," Vane said, looking at the approaching coastline. "We declare Lysander a fraud. The Council will have to pause the Rite to investigate."
"And if she doesn't pause?" Elian asked. "If she just kills Elara? If she attacks us?"
Vane turned to look at him. The wind whipped his dark hair around his face.
"Then we fight," Vane said. "I will handle the Guard. I will handle the Inquisitors. You handle the Queen."
"I don't know how to fight a Lunar Mage," Elian admitted, his voice small. "I just learned how to blast rocks yesterday."
"You don't fight her with technique," Vane said. He reached out, his hand cupping Elian's cheek. "You fight her with nature. She is a void. You are a star. A void cannot exist in the presence of a sun. You just have to burn bright enough to blind her."
"And if I burn out?"
"Then I will be there in the dark," Vane whispered.
He leaned in, kissing Elian. It was desperate and fierce, tasting of salt and fear. It was a goodbye and a promise wrapped in one.
"Captain!" Elian pulled back, pointing ahead. "Look!"
Vane turned.
On the horizon, the floating city of Aethelgard was visible. But it wasn't the gleaming white jewel they remembered.
It was surrounded by a blockade.
Dozens of Royal Skyships formed a ring around the city, their cannons glowing with charged mana. And between the ships, a shimmering dome of energy encompassed the entire city.
"She raised the Aegis," Vane swore. "The city is locked down. Nothing goes in or out."
"How do we get past a fleet?" Elian asked.
Vane looked at the blockade, then down at the straining engine of the Nightshade. A reckless, terrifying smile spread across his face.
"We don't go past it," Vane said. "We go through it."
He grabbed the wheel.
"Elian, get Elara. Bring her up to the deck and strap her to the mast. I need you here."
"Why?"
"Because," Vane said, spinning the wheel to aim the ship directly at a massive ramp of rock jutting out of the water near the coastal cliffs—a natural formation known as the Dragon's Tongue. "This ship has a mag-drive. It creates lift."
"Vane," Elian warned. "That's a ramp."
"We are going to jump the blockade," Vane shouted over the roar of the engine. "We are going to crash this ship directly into the Palace plaza."
"You're insane!"
"I'm inspired!" Vane yelled. "Channel your magic into the keel again! Give me everything you have! We need to fly!"
Elian didn't argue. He ran to get Elara. He strapped the terrified midwife to the main mast with rope, securing her tightly.
"Close your eyes, Elara!" Elian shouted. "And pray!"
He ran back to Vane. He placed both hands on the console. He closed his eyes and poured his soul into the ship.
The Nightshade hit the ramp at terminal velocity.
It didn't crash. It soared.
For a breathless moment, they were airborne. A black ship sailing through the clouds, trailing golden fire. They cleared the line of Skyships, passing right over the surprised gunners.
But gravity was a cruel mistress. The city was coming up fast.
"Brace for impact!" Vane roared, pulling the ship's nose up.
The Nightshade screamed through the air, shearing through a decorative tower before slamming onto the white marble of the Grand Plaza. Wood shattered. The hull groaned and split. The ship slid across the pavement, sparks flying, plowing through statues and fountains before coming to a screeching, grinding halt at the foot of the Palace steps.
Silence fell over the plaza. Dust and steam billowed out.
Elian coughed, waving the smoke away. He was thrown against the helm, bruised but alive.
"Vane?"
"Here," Vane groaned from the floor. He stood up, shaking glass from his hair. He looked at the wreckage. "My beautiful ship."
"We're alive," Elian checked on Elara. She was shaken, pale as a sheet, but nodding.
"We're here," she whispered.
The doors of the Palace burst open. Hundreds of Royal Guards poured out, spears leveled.
Elian stepped off the ruined deck of the ship onto the marble. He raised his chin. He didn't hide his violet eyes. He let them burn.
"I am Elian Sol!" he shouted, his voice amplified by his magic, booming across the plaza. "And I have come to reclaim my name!"