>>Aelin
Ariston moved like a force of nature — his blade flashing in arcs of silver, eyes locked onto the masked worshipper with a merciless focus.
I'd seen him fight before, but never like this. But it gave me a view of how he must have fought in battles and in the war.
Each swing of his sword pushed the enemy back. Each strike cut deeper — into flesh, into shadows. The masked one tried to parry, to dodge, to lash out with clawed fingers and bursts of abyssal magic, but Ariston was relentless.
And yet—
I couldn't find the core.
I stood just a few feet behind, shield still flickering weakly around me, my hand outstretched. The golden thread kept flickering, slipping in and out of existence. Every time I thought I had it locked, the worshipper twisted or jumped or bent at an impossible angle, severing the line.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Come on— come on—
