Something inside her broke.
Her tears fell, but they burned. Her screams tore the night, but they thundered like storms. And then—her fire changed.
It was no longer gold. No longer white.
It was godfire.
Flames roared from her body, blinding, unstoppable, hotter than stars. Wolves staggered back, rogues screamed as their bodies burned into nothing. The very earth cracked, rivers boiled, mountains shuddered.
The gods appeared again, their forms in the sky, but even they faltered before her fire.
"She burns beyond fate," one whispered.
"She will consume everything," another warned.
"She is more than witch," a third murmured. "She is creation. And destruction."
Aradia stood, her eyes molten gold, her body wrapped in fire too vast to contain. She looked at Ronan—and for the first time, he flinched.
"You will not take him," she thundered, her voice shaking the world. "Not in this life. Not ever again."
Her flames erupted, consuming Ronan's army in fire brighter than dawn.
And the Shadow Lord screamed.