Aelith was no stranger to danger.

  As a former priestess, she had spent years cultivating an acute awareness of her surroundings. A single moment of hesitation could mean death in the outside world. And yet, as she stood within the formation, staring at the creature restrained at its center, she felt something she had not in a long time—unease.

  At first, she dismissed it.

  But when she glanced at Antru, she saw the way his fingers tightened on his staff, the sharp focus in his eyes, the slight furrow in his brow. He was acting strange. Antru was a man who prided himself on control, on knowing every variable at play. Yet now, he was hesitating.

  That realization sent an unfamiliar tension through her chest.

  What was he seeing that she wasn’t?

  She inhaled deeply, forcing her emotions into order.

  She had long abandoned blind faith. She did not serve gods. She served power. And power demanded action.

  To calm herself, she did what she always did—prepared.

  Aelith had once been bound by the shackles of faith.

  Born into the holy city of Lafina, she had been trained to serve the monastery from a young age. They had tried to mold her into a vessel of divine will, a servant of the light.

  But she had always wanted more.

  She had seen the world for what it was—corrupt, hungry, unfair. And in that world, faith alone was not enough. Power dictated everything.

  So she had sought knowledge.

  She had spent years scouring forbidden texts, delving into ancient rituals, consuming everything that could elevate her beyond the limits of a mere priestess. And eventually, she had walked away from the monastery, leaving behind the blind fools who still prayed for salvation that would never come.

  Her pursuit of power had led her here.

  And now, standing before the unknown, she felt that pursuit justified.

  Because if Antru was hesitating, then she needed to act.

  Aelith had heard of Antru long before she met him. A mage who had climbed his way up from the dirt, who had defied every expectation and carved his place through sheer cunning and survival. She was aware of his reputation, of the way he played his cards close to his chest, of the way he manipulated situations to his advantage.

  So why was he hesitating now?

  With practiced ease, Aelith moved swiftly, pulling out a set of pre-prepared inscriptions from her robes. Holy energy crackled at her fingertips as she arranged them in a circular formation around her. The symbols on the parchment glowed, forming a sacred script only those with divine affinity could wield.

  A killing formation.

  One designed not to restrain, but to destroy.

  The inscriptions lit up with golden radiance, the power of the divine surging through them.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Antru’s gaze flickered toward her, and for the first time, she saw a glint of approval in his eyes.

  “Impressive,” he murmured, studying the growing formation. “Had I known you were this proficient, I might have considered working with you more closely.”

  Aelith smirked. “Faith has its uses. Even when discarded.”

  The formation took shape in mere moments, glowing with a fierce, holy intensity. Unlike Antru’s complex and layered formations, hers was brutal, direct—a spear meant to pierce through whatever stood in its way.

  She saw it then—the brief flicker in Antru’s eyes. He was calculating. Measuring possibilities. He was letting her act because he was still weighing his next steps.

  He was considering what to do if things spiraled beyond his control.

  That thought sent another ripple of unease through her.

  Had she miscalculated?

  --

  Thorne was not a scholar.

  Nor was he a worshiper.

  He was a mercenary—a man who knew the weight of strength and the price of weakness.

  And right now, his instincts told him one thing.

  This creature was different.

  His hands flexed at his sides, itching for the power he could seize from this encounter.

  Thorne did not care for the mysteries of the world. He did not care for forgotten gods or ancient knowledge. He cared for strength—raw, undeniable power that could bend the world to his will.

  And this thing, this monstrosity they had bound…

  It was beyond them.

  The thought sent a vicious thrill through his veins.

  He had fought warriors who could shatter a small hill. He had stood against beasts that could drown villages in their roars. And yet—he had never felt this.

  It was something deeper.

  Something primordial.

  A wellspring of power, barely restrained.

  And if he could take it—

  A sharp grin cut across his face.

  The others were fools. They sought control, study, reverence.

  Thorne sought dominion.

  If he could carve out even a fraction of this thing’s power, it would make him unstoppable.

  His fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword.

  Just one wound.

  One opening.

  One chance to steal whatever strength it held inside.

  His blood burned with the thought.

  Yes.

  Yes, this was worth the risk.

  --

  While Thorne indulged in his hunger for power, Caelum remained silent.

  He moved with calculated ease, his steps quiet as he inched closer to Frid.

  The gaunt man—no, the faceless man—was muttering to himself, his sunken eyes locked onto the restrained creature in the center.

  Caelum crouched beside him, his voice low. “What do you think, Frid?”

  Frid twitched.

  A broken smile stretched across his face, his lips cracked, his expression feverish. His fingers curled as if grasping something unseen.

  “You fools…” His voice was barely above a whisper, a rasping breath between choked laughter. “You shouldn’t have done this…”

  Caelum’s eyes narrowed.

  Frid was insane.

  Everyone knew it.

  But insanity did not mean ignorance.

  Caelum had always been watching, listening, waiting.

  And right now, he saw something the others did not.

  Frid was not afraid.

  No, his madness was different—it was the madness of a believer.

  And his words carried weight.

  “You shouldn’t make an enemy out of my lord…”

  Caelum felt a chill creep up his spine.

  He studied Frid, searching his face for any sign of doubt. There was none.

  Frid believed in whatever this thing was.

  And belief was a dangerous thing.

  Caelum’s mind moved quickly.

  Aelith was preparing to strike.

  Antru was hesitating.

  Thorne was eager for power.

  And Frid?

  Frid was worshiping.

  Caelum took a slow breath, his decision forming.

  He would not stand against something he did not understand.

  For now, he would watch.

  For now, he would wait.

  And when the time came…

  He would choose the winning side.

  The killing formation was nearly complete.

  Aelith’s hands moved swiftly, her focus absolute. The moment it activated, the holy energy would lance forward, purging anything impure from existence.

  Thorne’s breath quickened. Antru’s mind raced. Caelum waited.

  And Frid?

  Frid laughed.

  Laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

  “You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice shaking with something between reverence and madness.

  The formation activated.

  Light surged.

  A spear of divine power rushed forward—

  And the air cracked.

  A sound like shattered glass.

  Like something breaking apart.

  And in that instant—

  Everything changed.