The Hollow King didn't flinch as the violet light from my eyes washed over the room, turning the ancient vellum of his books into silhouettes of bruised shadow. He stood his ground, the black vipers of his own corrupted energy coiling tighter around his legs, hisining with a sick, oily luster.
"You think you are the first to brandish that fire?" the King asked, his voice a low, vibrating hum that made the marrow in my bones feel like liquid lead. "I watched your mother burn with it. I watched her try to use it to keep me out, to build a wall between what she was and what I needed her to be. In the end, all fire goes out, Hannah. All that's left is the cold."
He moved with a sudden, predatory grace, his hand snapping out to catch my throat. I didn't let him. I pivoted as Kasper had taught me in the Foundry, my movements a blur of practiced entropy. I lashed out with a hand encased in the silver-lead gauntlet, the violet spark at my fingertips striking the King's chest.
