Page 127 of Bound to the Dreadlord

"Because it’s the only way."

I hate him.

I abhor that part of me still wants to believe in him.

A horn shatters the silence.

The sky erupts in fire.

The battle has already begun.

I twist in his grip, breathless. Trembling.

"You do not get to decide my fate, Veylan."

I hum a song in my throat, low and sonorous. The magic builds up around me as I push him away.

As the first note slips, his hand holding mine trembles as he fights the magic.

His jaw clenches.

"You already decided mine," he says.

I sing louder, almost commanding him to let met go, and he lets out a pained gasp, “Sera!”

Then, he lets me go as if electrocuted, stumbling away.

I stare at him, takes a deep breath and sing in the midst of the battlefield.

I do not run because there is nowhere left to run.

If I do not end this now—I will never be free.

This is war and I will not be a victim.

I will decide.

47

SERA

The world is fire.

Smoke rolls thick through the battlefield, clogging my throat, burning my lungs. Metal clashes against metal, screams split the night, and somewhere behind me, a body collapses into the mud with a sickening, wet thud.

I keep moving. I have to.

I should not be fighting beside him.

I should not be here at all.

But I am.

Veylan carves through the battlefield like a storm of steel and shadow, his sword cutting through bodies with merciless precision. His armor is slick with blood—some of it his, most of it not. He commands his forces with a voice that does not waver, each order sending soldiers scattering like a pack of well-trained hounds.

He is a warlord, a monster, a legend wrapped in darkness.

And I am nothing but a fool.

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