Thorne didn't remember crossing the distance between the Ravencourt lands and Alvar. The journey was a haze of pounding footsteps, burning muscles, and a heart that felt like it might tear itself apart with each thundering beat. His body was screaming in protest; his stamina had long since dwindled into nothing, yet his legs refused to stop. His mind swirled with half-formed thoughts and dread, his vision swimming with fatigue.

The marking on his palm flared brighter with every step, the faint glow now a throbbing light that pulsed in sync with his erratic heartbeat. It was a beacon, a warning, or perhaps a curse, though he didn't have the energy to care. The closer he got to Alvar, the hotter it burned, until it felt as though his skin was searing from within.

Above him, the sky was a canvas of destruction. Crimson clouds churned with angry streaks of fire, and the falling stars continued their relentless descent, trailing red-hot streaks as they hurtled toward the city. Each impact sent shockwaves that rattled the earth, the resulting explosions lighting up the horizon in grotesque bursts of fire and smoke. The horizon wasn't simply burning, it was disintegrating, the edges of the city swallowed in a haze of ruin and death.

Every breath he took felt shallow, insufficient. The acrid scent of smoke and something worse, a hair rising smell, filled his nose. What new horror will I see when I cross the gates?

The land around him was eerily silent, yet the quiet felt deceptive, threatening. He realized with a pang of unease that it wasn't just the chaos in the city that disturbed him, it was the aether.

The air felt wrong, distorted in a way that made his skin crawl. The usual ebb and flow of the aether, once a comforting background hum, was now erratic and unnatural. Around him, the energy was suffocatingly dense, clinging to his skin and coiling like an invisible shroud.

The aether was in disarray. It recoiled, gathering like frightened animals in his immediate vicinity, clustering tightly around him. Every step brought a surge of the strange energy curling protectively against his skin, as if it sought refuge in him. But beyond that, there was nothing.

The rest of the world felt hollow, the air stripped of its usual vitality. It reminded him of how things used to be before the surges, before the outbursts had turned Alvar into a place of chaotic aetheric abundance. The rich, chaotic aether that brought life to the land for months was gone.

Thorne slowed for a moment, his legs faltering as his gaze swept across the fields. No... not gone.

His eyes narrowed as he focused on the horizon. The truth struck him like a blade. The aether hadn't vanished, it was being pulled, drawn toward the city in an unstoppable tide. It was as though the city itself had become a vortex, consuming every mote of aether from the surrounding lands. The flow was so unnatural, so calculated, that it made his stomach churn.

The aether flowed like water into a whirlpool, spiraling toward the city center, leaving the outskirts barren and lifeless. The very earth beneath him seemed to exhale its last breath, the ambient energy around him collapsing into a void. Only the aether around his body resisted, clinging to him in defiance of the pull.

His glowing eyes widened as the full weight of realization hit him. This isn't natural. This isn't some byproduct of the battle. This is deliberate.

The closer he got to Alvar, the stronger the pull became. The aether's flow was visible to his heightened senses now, streams of shimmering energy converging toward the heart of the city. It swirled in patterns that felt chaotic yet purposeful, forming intricate, almost mesmerizing currents that radiated from a single point deep within the city.

His breath quickened as he thought back to what Selene had said about the fireworks. The stars. The aether. All of this... it's part of the same thing. It's all connected.

Thorne felt his hands tremble, though whether it was from exhaustion or the realization of what awaited him, he didn't know. Every step closer to Alvar only amplified the dread. Something had been set into motion, something beyond comprehension and if the aether itself was reacting, it could only mean one thing: this wasn't a simple battle or a desperate retaliation.

This was annihilation.

Thorne stumbled as he passed the gates of Alvar, his steps slowing to a cautious walk. His breaths came out in ragged huffs, his chest heaving from the strain of his journey. He expected chaos. Screams. The acrid stench of burning flesh and ruin. Yet, as his glowing eyes scanned the streets, he was met with... stillness.

It didn't make sense.

The city looked untouched. The cobbled streets were unmarred, the buildings intact, and the bustling life he expected to see utterly absent. There were no bodies strewn about, no smoldering ruins to mark the falling stars he had witnessed. Everything was eerily silent.

He stopped in the middle of the street, turning slowly, his mind racing. What is happening? His eyes caught faint glimmers in the air, something moving, twisting, flowing.

At first, he thought it was just a trick of his aether-enhanced senses, his exhaustion playing tricks on him. But the longer he stared, the clearer it became. High above, ribbons of shimmering aether wove through the air like serpents, forming tight, intricate patterns that radiated an unnatural beauty, like streams of liquid light weaving themselves into a tapestry.

The aether wasn't just flowing, it was alive. The threads coiled and unwound in mesmerizing arcs, their movements impossibly precise yet fluid, as if they followed the rhythm of an ancient, silent song. The patterns shifted constantly, their shapes dissolving and reforming into ever more complex geometries. Circles and spirals merged into jagged, angular forms before smoothing out into sweeping curves that shimmered with an unearthly glow.

The patterns pulsed with light, their brilliance waxing and waning as though each motion carried its own heartbeat. It wasn't chaotic, it was deliberate. Purposeful. Like a language he didn't understand, their shapes spoke of power and control, ancient and all-encompassing. He couldn't look away, caught between awe and dread.

"By the dead gods..." he whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible. The air around him vibrated with an unnatural hum, and though his instincts screamed at him to move, to do something, he found himself rooted in place, a moth caught in the flame of an incomprehensible force.

He blinked, shaking his head, forcing himself to focus. His mind churned, cycling through a list of his friends: Jonah, Ben, Darius, Eliza... Matilda, Arletta, Gilly, Dallen. His heart clenched at the thought of them caught in the destruction. He had to find them. He had to make sure they were safe.

With a force of will, Thorne tore his gaze away from the dazzling display in the sky and began running. He sprinted toward the source of the patterns, the aether trails guiding him like an invisible thread.

The stars continued to fall, their fiery descent visible in his peripheral vision, but strangely, they didn't seem to touch the streets around him. The destruction was concentrated elsewhere, distant fires painting the city in hues of scarlet and orange.

His eyes darted toward the horizon where the spell seemed to originate. The patterns of aether grew denser as he closed the distance, the threads forming spirals and lattices so intricate they resembled ancient glyphs carved into the fabric of the air itself. The shapes seemed to fold in on themselves, then expand outward, releasing bursts of energy that shimmered like liquid light before being drawn back into the central weave.

It was magnificent. Terrifying. And it could only mean one thing.

Thorne's stomach twisted as he sprinted toward the epicenter of it all.

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As Thorne approached the epicenter of the devastation, the heat became suffocating, wrapping around him like a smothering shroud. The vibrations from the falling stars reverberated through the ground with such intensity that it felt as though the earth itself was protesting. Each thunderous impact sent tremors rippling through his body, and he stumbled more often than not, struggling to regain his balance. The sky raged above him, red as blood, streaked with burning trails of stars falling to their fiery demise. The sound, the deafening, inhuman sound, made his chest tighten, and his heart thunder in time with each impact.

More than the chaos outside, though, was the chaos within. The mark of the purple crow flared hot beneath his glove, searing his skin like a brand. Thorne hissed under his breath as he clutched his hand against his chest.

The sensation was impossible to ignore.

The mysterious man from the capital, he was close, dangerously close.

Aether pulsed erratically around him, rushing to the square like an invisible tide. It was chaotic, mesmerizing, and ominous all at once. The strange patterns in the air, vivid and alive, twisted like giant serpents. Intricate loops and whorls shifted and changed, forming what looked like ancient symbols, a language older than time itself. The patterns felt alive, resonating with power, and Thorne's eyes tracked them with horrified fascination.

Each moment brought him closer to the source of it all. Then, finally, the city's panicked screams reached his ears.

When Thorne burst into the central square, his breath caught in his throat. The scene before him was pure carnage.

Massive craters marred the once-pristine expanse of cobblestones, their edges glowing molten red and orange, heat radiating like an open forge. Inside some craters were blackened remnants of what had been people, human torches frozen mid-scream, their final moments etched into grotesque stillness. The acrid stench of burning flesh hit him like a physical blow, making bile rise in his throat.

Nobles, once the proud and imperious rulers of Alvar, were now reduced to scrambling figures in tattered finery, shoving and trampling one another in desperate attempts to escape. They cried out for their servants, for their gods, for salvation. Some were too late, their bodies crushed beneath the onslaught of panicked crowds.

Thorne barely had time to process it before an enormous boulder, no, a star bathed in roaring flames, screamed through the sky and smashed into the governing building. The impact obliterated half the structure, sending a shockwave so strong that it knocked Thorne off his feet.

The explosion was deafening. The ground buckled, shattering windows in a chain reaction that sent shards flying into the terrified crowds. Stone and mortar rained down in deadly showers, pulverized into a thick, choking dust cloud, turning the world into a suffocating, blinding haze.

The once-proud governing building, the symbol of Alvar's authority, was now a crumbling ruin, half its structure obliterated. Flames licked hungrily at the remains, casting flickering shadows over the bodies and rubble strewn about the square.

Thorne coughed and staggered to his feet, throwing an arm over his face to shield himself from the dust. The sound of panicked screams rang out all around him. The nobles who had been partying mere hours ago now fled in terrified mobs, trampling one another in their desperation to escape. Servants and soldiers scrambled in every direction, their faces streaked with soot and fear.

Then he saw them, red flashes, darting through the haze like streaks of lightning, impossibly fast and precise. He tried to focus on them, but they were gone before his eyes could track them, leaving afterimages burned into his vision. His gut churned with an instinctive dread, a primal fear clawing its way up his spine.

And then the screaming started anew, higher-pitched, more desperate than before.

Thorne's eyes darted around, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but the destruction was absolute, chaos reigning in every direction. Dust and flame swallowed the square, and amidst it all, those streaks of red light darted like harbingers of doom, leaving only death in their wake.

As the dust settled, the chaotic reality of the destruction unfolded before Thorne's eyes. Small flames, no more than embers, flitted through the air like malevolent fireflies, each moving with impossible speed. They darted through the haze with precision, unerring in their targets. Thorne's glowing eyes followed the fiery streaks, dread pooling in his stomach as he saw what came next.

Each ember struck its mark dead center in the chest, and in the blink of an eye, a roaring ball of fire engulfed the victim. The searing infernos burned so intensely that they left nothing behind but ash. Thorne's breath hitched as he realized these were no indiscriminate flames, they were sentient, each ember carrying a deadly purpose.

His gaze caught Lady Langston, her once-pristine gown tattered, her soot-streaked face a mask of panic. She clutched at her ruined dress, shouting for her servants, her voice cracking with despair. Her once-arrogant demeanor had vanished, leaving only desperation as she stumbled through the debris-strewn square.

Then it happened.

An ember, no larger than a speck, zipped through the air and struck her chest with pinpoint accuracy. Time seemed to slow as Thorne watched in horror. The ember flared, expanding into a fiery hell that consumed her entirely. Within the flames, Lady Langston's form thrashed wildly, her arms clawing at the air as if trying to escape.

And then, to Thorne's mounting horror, her darkened silhouette began to disintegrate. Inch by inch, her body melted away, leaving nothing but a swirling vortex of ash and embers. The inferno collapsed inward, taking what little remained of her with it, and vanished as if she had never existed.

Thorne froze, his body locked in place by the sheer magnitude of what he'd just witnessed. The reality of the destruction bore down on him, suffocating in its weight. His gaze lingered on the smoldering spot where Lady Langston had stood, the echo of her final scream ringing in his ears.

A sudden flash of red passed by him, so close he felt its heat singe his cheek. The primal fear that jolted him back into motion took over, and he ran. His legs carried him instinctively, not toward the source of the chaos, but toward the crumbling remains of the governing building.

It wasn't a conscious decision. He wasn't thinking at all. His body simply moved, propelled by something deeper, something he couldn't yet name.

As he entered the ruined reception hall, he understood. Uncle.

The place was unrecognizable. Only hours ago, the space had been alive with the sounds of celebration, boasts, toasts, and laughter echoing off the opulent walls. Now, those walls were gone, reduced to jagged remnants barely holding the shattered structure together. Columns had crumbled, and debris blanketed the floor like a tomb's shroud. The air was thick with dust and smoke, the remnants of chandeliers glinting faintly amid the wreckage.

The dead and dying were scattered among the ruin. Thorne's sharp eyes darted from body to body, searching for a familiar face, though he didn't know if it was out of hope or dread. Miraculously, some were alive, coughing and groaning as they tried to crawl from the debris. Around them, the embers hovered like vultures, circling with malevolent purpose.

Thorne's stomach churned as he spotted Lord Thornfield. The nobleman was on his back, coughing violently, one leg pinned beneath a massive chunk of the ceiling. His face was twisted in agony as he clawed at the rubble, desperate to free himself.

Then the embers found him.

Lord Thornfield's panicked eyes widened as a single ember darted toward him. He barely had time to scream before it struck his chest. The fire engulfed him in an instant, the flames roaring to life with unnatural intensity. Thorne watched as Thornfield's struggles ceased, his form dissolving within the inferno until nothing was left but smoke and ash.

The embers didn't stop. They danced through the reception hall, striking down the living without mercy. Every flash of red sent another person screaming into oblivion.

Thorne stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. The chaos, the death, it was too much. But still, he moved forward, his steps heavy as he searched the destruction. And then he saw him. Uncle.

Their eyes met across the devastation. Uncle.

For a brief moment, everything else faded away, the chaos, the screaming, the falling embers. It was just the two of them. Thorne saw the recognition in Uncle's bloodshot eyes, the sharpness dulled by exhaustion and pain but still filled with that unrelenting hunger for control, for power. A million unspoken words hung in the air between them, resentment, defiance, betrayal, triumph but neither said a thing.

Then it happened.

An ember streaked through the air, glowing red-hot, and struck Uncle square in the chest.

The flames erupted instantly, consuming him in a searing inferno. Uncle's body stiffened, his mouth opening in a silent scream. The fire raged around him, a living entity that devoured him whole. He thrashed, his hands clawing at the flames as if he could tear them away, but they clung to him like a second skin, feeding on his flesh.

Thorne stood frozen, rooted to the spot. His mind was blank, his body unresponsive. He watched as Uncle's figure writhed within the fire, the man who had dominated his life reduced to a burning silhouette. The flames licked higher, engulfing every inch of him, and still, Thorne didn't move.

He couldn't look away.

A wave of emotions crashed over him all at once, threatening to drown him. The first was grief, unexpected and unwelcome. Despite everything, Uncle had been a constant, a looming presence in his life. His death should have been nothing more than a step in the plan, but it left an ache in his chest, an echo of all the times he had hoped, futilely, for something better.

Then came the relief, a soothing balm over the raw wound of grief. Uncle was gone. The man who had manipulated, tormented, and shaped him into a weapon was no more. Thorne no longer had to look over his shoulder, no longer had to endure the sharp edge of Uncle's voice or the crushing weight of his expectations.

And with the relief came something else.

Joy.

Unbridled, wild, and uncontainable. It bubbled up inside him, a giddy sensation that made his heart race faster than fear ever had. The man who had made his life a living hell, who had held him captive in a web of deceit and manipulation, was dead. Thorne felt the chains snap, each link falling away as if they had never been there at all.

He was free.

"I'm free."

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