Page 149 of The First Scar
We were never going to be ready.
Kaelen's voice cut through the chaos, clipped and biting. "Hold the line! Buy her time!"
Her.Me.
Every rebel on this field was about to bleed so I could stand still long enough to do the impossible.
Chapter 34
AMARIA
Brannick appeared at the edge of the circle, a coil of thick braided rope in his hands. His face was grim, but his voice was steady.
"Need to connect you to the rods," he said. "Skin contact. As much as possible. Kaelen says it'll keep the surge from burning you up from the inside."
I looked at the ropes, rough fiber, glyph-reinforced and strong.
I nodded.
"Your daggers." Brannick held out his hand. "Metal interferes with the grounding."
My fingers tightened on the hilts. Instinct. Reflex. I'd carried these blades since I was old enough to hold them.
But I extended my hands anyway. Hilts first.
He took them without ceremony. Tucked them on the basin behind me.
I unstrapped the band from my forearm—six throwing stars nested flush against the leather—and set it on the basin beside my daggers. Then the rest. Elbows. Knees. Wrists. Ankles. Shoulders. One by one, I unclipped every strapped blade and laid them on the stone like I was dismantling myself piece by piece. The pile grew. Brannick watched it grow, his expression carefully blank.
My body felt wrong without them. Naked. Like peeling off skin I'd forgotten wasn't mine.
Then he started binding. Wrists first. He crossed them behind the rod and the rope cinched harshly against the knob of bone on the outside of each wrist. My shoulders pulled back—not painful yet, but the stretch opened me up in a way that made me aware of every breath. My spine pressed flat against the void-iron. Cold metal through my leathers, buzzing against each vertebra.
Then forearms. Then waist. Each loop snugged firm and final, pinning me to the rod until my weight had nowhere to go but my heels. My hands opened and closed on nothing. The hilts should have been there. My palms kept curling around the shape of them, fingers tightening on empty air.
Brannick worked in silence. Efficient. Practiced. His knuckles brushed my pulse on the last knot and he paused—just a beat, just long enough to feel my heart hammering against the rope—then cinched it down.
The glyphs in the fibers lit up against my skin. A hum sank into the meat of my forearms and spread inward, mingling with theVeil's thrum until I couldn't tell where the rope ended and my bones began.
When he finished, he stepped back. Looked at me—really looked—his eyes searching my face.
"Not alone, little flame," he said quietly. "Whatever happens. You're not alone."
I wanted to believe him.
I did believe him.
That was the worst part.
The vanguard flooded the basin, a tide of Enforcer steel. The Hounds ran ahead of them, close enough that I could hear their snarling between the howls.
Kaelen turned from the altar. His eyes found mine across the chaos—bright, feverish, fixed on me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
“Now, Amaria!" His voice cut through the chaos like a whip. "Unleash it! All of it!"
I closed my eyes. And opened.
Light rose—hot and spreading fast, flooding the space between my lungs. Shadow answered from lower. Gut-deep and glacial, climbing my spine one vertebra at a time. They met behind my sternum and the collision nearly folded me over. My knees locked. My jaw clenched so hard my molars ground together.
