The horses were half-dead by the time Blackreach came into view—foam-flecked, stumbling, but they'd made the journey in record time. Through the blood-bond, Seraphiel felt Nyx's mind working constantly, turning over strategies, calculating losses, running scenarios that all ended in fire and screaming.
"Stop thinking so loud," she muttered.
"Can't help it." But she felt his grim amusement through the connection. "Welcome to my head. It's not pleasant."
Blackreach was chaos. Soldiers packing supplies, shouting orders, arguing in clusters. Some sharpening weapons with the desperate focus of people who knew they were outmatched. Others loading wagons, preparing to flee.
Korvath met them at the gates. Her face was carved from stone. "10,000 soldiers, Nyx. Professional army. Blessed weapons. Holy Knights. Siege equipment." She paused. "We have 2,000. Half of them barely trained. The math doesn't work."
Nyx dismounted. Seraphiel felt his exhaustion through the bond—bone-deep, held at bay by sheer willpower. "War council. Now."
.........
The command tent was packed. Battalion commanders, scouts, the few mages they had. All eyes on Nyx as he spread a map across the table.
"We can't win a straight fight," he said without preamble. "Anyone who thinks otherwise is delusional. But we don't need to win. We need to *delay*."
Silence. Then Rhen spoke up. "Delay for what?"
"For me to reach the Obsidian Peaks." Nyx's finger traced a route through the mountains. "There's something there we need. A weapon that can kill Caelum Thorne permanently. But getting it will take time."
"How much time?" Korvath asked.
"Seven days. Maybe eight if the Forgotten King decides to be difficult."
Someone laughed. It sounded brittle. "You want us to hold off 10,000 soldiers for a *week*?"
"I want you to slow them down." Nyx's voice cut through the rising panic. "Guerrilla tactics. Hit and run. Burn their supply lines. Poison their water. Make every mile cost them blood. You don't have to beat them. Just make them bleed."
"While you and who else gallivant off to the mountains?" Rhen didn't sound angry. Just tired.
"Me, Seraphiel, and five elite soldiers. Small team. Fast. We take the mountain pass—it's treacherous but cuts the journey in half." Nyx looked around the tent. "Korvath commands in my absence. What she says goes. No heroics. No last stands. Stay alive long enough for us to come back with the weapon."
Through the bond, Seraphiel felt his certainty. His absolute conviction that this would work. It should've been reassuring. Instead, it terrified her.
Because she could also feel his doubt, buried deeper. The fear that he was sending his people to die.
Korvath crossed her arms. "Seven days. Against overwhelming odds. You're asking a lot."
"I know."
"Fine. I'll give you ten." Her grin was sharp, dangerous. "But you'd better come back with that blade. Or I'll drag you out of whatever afterlife you're hiding in and kill you myself."
Nyx almost smiled. "Deal."
Seraphiel had an abrupt vision.
"Korvath on the battlefield. Outnumbered. Surrounded. Still fighting. Sword in each hand, body covered in blood—hers and theirs.
A Holy Knight behind her. Blessed blade rising. Driving down.
Through her chest. Out her back.
Korvath's face. Not afraid. Just... sad. "Sorry, boss. Couldn't hold them."
Blackreach burning behind her. Everyone dead."
Seraphiel gasped, grabbed Nyx's arm hard enough to hurt. "She's going to die. I saw it."
The tent went quiet. Nyx looked at Korvath. His oldest friend. Fifteen years together. She'd saved his life more times than either could count.
Then back at Seraphiel. Through the bond, she felt his agony. The choice tearing him apart.
"If we don't get the blade," he said quietly, "everyone dies. Not just her. Everyone. The 2,000 here. The civilians Caelum will slaughter to draw me out. Your sister. You. Me." He met Korvath's eye. "Don't be a hero. Stay alive. That's an order."
Korvath clasped his forearm. Their usual goodbye. "Been following your orders for 15 years. Not about to stop now."
But Seraphiel could see the death-marks glowing faint around Korvath's throat. She was lying. Planning to sacrifice herself if needed. The meeting broke up. Commanders dispersing to their units, preparing for the impossible.
Seraphiel caught Korvath's arm as she passed. "I need to talk to you."
They stepped outside. The camp bustled around them—organized chaos.
"I saw you die," Seraphiel said bluntly. "Sword through your chest. Blackreach burning."
"Sounds about right." Korvath's tone was almost conversational.
"I can change it. If you promise me something."
Korvath's eye narrowed. "What?"
"When the moment comes—when you have the choice between holding the line and retreating—you retreat. Don't play hero. Nyx needs you alive."
"Nyx needs me to buy him time."
"He needs you to survive." Seraphiel stepped closer. "I've seen what losing people does to him. It's eating him alive. Don't add yourself to that weight."
Korvath studied her for a long moment. "You're not what I expected. Thought oracles were all fragile mystics. Crystal balls and prophecy scrolls. You're steel."
"I burned." Seraphiel's voice flat. "Steel is all that's left."
Something like respect flickered across Korvath's scarred face. "Alright. If I can retreat without losing everyone, I will. But if it's a choice between my life and theirs—"
"Then make the smart choice. Not the brave one."
Korvath grinned. "You sound like Nyx."
"I'm bonded to him. It's contagious."
They clasped arms. Warrior's farewell.
"Bring him back," Korvath said quietly. "And that blade. We'll hold."
"I know."
.............
.............
Nyx, Seraphiel, and five elite soldiers... hardened fighters, the best Blackreach had mounted up. Light supplies, fast horses. Everything stripped down for speed.
Behind them, the camp prepared for siege. Trenches being dug. Barricades erected. Archers testing bowstrings.
Korvath stood at the gate and raised her hand in salute.
Nyx returned it. Then wheeled his horse and rode.
The mountain pass swallowed them within an hour. Narrow trails, steep cliffs, treacherous footing. But it would cut their journey in half.
If they survived it.They rode in silence for hours. Then—
The vision slammed into Seraphiel. Different this time. Sharper. More immediate.
"Caelum's command tent. Expensive. Ornate. A traveling palace.
He knelt before a ritual circle. Candles at five points. Symbols carved into the ground.
Elowen beside him. Eyes vacant. Holding out her arm.
Caelum drew a blade across her wrist. Blood flowing into crystal vials. Not enough to kill. Just enough to hurt.
"Where is your sister, little oracle?" His voice gentle.
Elowen's mouth moved without thought. "North. The mountains. The Obsidian Peaks."
"Good girl." He kissed her forehead. Then began chanting. The blood in the vials glowing, forming a map in the air. Showing Seraphiel's exact location.
"She's almost predictable." Caelum smiled. "Always trying to save what she's already lost."
..........
...........
Seraphiel crashed back to reality, nearly falling from her horse.
"Nyx—" She grabbed for him. Through the bond, he felt her panic, steadied her. "He knows where we're going. He's tracking me through Elowen. Using our familial bond."
Nyx's jaw clenched. She felt his mind already racing—calculating new routes, timing, whether they could throw off the trail.
He spurred his horse as others followed behind.
Behind them, Blackreach prepared for war. Ahead, the Obsidian Peaks rose like black teeth against the sky.
And somewhere between them and their goal, Caelum was already moving. The race had begun.
"Then we move faster," he said grimly. "Because if he reaches the Forgotten King first, we've lost everything."