Page 88 of Realms of Shadow and Sun

Cressida's laughter was hollow, tinged with desperation. “I admit, I've been siphoning off magic from all corners of our world. But killing me won't restore the balance.”

Renya's eyes darted to her father, her fingers sweaty and struggling to maintain their grip on the dagger. Uncertainty clouded her thoughts.

“It's a trick, Renya,” Cyrus warned, his voice tight with tension.

Renya adjusted her grip on the dagger's handle and brought it to Cressida's throat. She pressed the tip in slightly, causing a small bead of blood to form on her mother's pale skin. “What do you mean?” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempt at firmness.

“You're a fool, Cyrus,” Cressida spat, her eyes never leaving Renya's. “You've only believed what you've wanted to believe. I haven't been destroying our world—I've been trying to save it.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

The thick smell of smoke and ash filled Sion's nostrils as he ducked behind a crumbling golden wall. The sounds of battle raged around him—clashing metal, agonized cries, and the thunderous beating of dragon wings overhead. He took a moment to catch his breath, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword.

Selenia, he thought, his mind drifting to the fierce, auburn-haired woman he'd left behind in the palace. The memory of their last embrace, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body against his, gave him a renewed surge of energy. He had to survive this—for her.

A deafening roar shook the air, and Sion peered around the wall to see Grayden atop Beauty, swooping down on a group of Shadow Realm soldiers. The sight of his friend in action filled Sion with a mix of pride and determination. Despite their recent tensions, Sion knew he would give his life to protect Grayden and the kingdom they both loved.

“Sion!” Phillippe's voice cut through the chaos from behind him. “We need you at the eastern gate!”

With a nod, Sion sprinted from his cover, weaving through the battle-torn streets of the Sun Realm. Golden tiles, once pristine, were now stained with blood and ash. As he ran, he dispatched two enemy soldiers with swift, precise strikes of his sword. Years of training at the mountain camp had honed his skills to a master’s level.

Reaching the eastern gate, Sion found Phillippe and a handful of Snow Land soldiers struggling to hold back a surge of Shadow Realm forces. Without hesitation, he threw himself into the fray, his blade singing as it cut through the air.

“Glad you could join us,” Phillippe grunted, dodging a blow from a particularly large opponent.

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” Sion replied, a grim smile on his face as he engaged three enemies at once.

The battle raged on, a brutal dance of steel and magic. Sion lost track of time, his world narrowing to the next opponent, the next threat. He caught glimpses of his allies throughout the fight—Triston's fierce determination as he wielded his trident, Charly's graceful fury as he cut down foes with his dual blades, and always, Grayden's commanding presence atop Beauty.

A piercing screech drew Sion's attention skyward. Cressida's smaller dragon was clawing at the city walls, its scales gleaming with an unnatural, dark sheen. As he watched, Triston charged towards the beast, his trident raised high.

“Triston, no!” Sion shouted, but his warning came too late.

The dragon's tail whipped around, catching Triston square in the chest and sending him flying. His trident remained lodged in the creature's hide as Triston hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop several yards away.

Sion rushed to Triston's side, helping the dazed king to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Triston nodded, grimacing as he rubbed his shoulder. “I'll live. But that beast—it's unlike anything I've ever faced.”

Before Sion could respond, a wave of Shadow Realm soldiers descended upon them. Triston grabbed a knife from his boot, and back to back, Sion and Triston fought off the onslaught, their movements perfectly synchronized despite never having fought together before.

As the last attacker fell, Sion felt a searing pain in his side. He looked down to see a deep gouge, blood already soaking through his tunic.When did that happen? he wondered, the adrenaline fading enough for the pain to truly register.

“Sion!” Triston's alarmed voice seemed distant. “You're hurt!”

Sion tried to wave off the concern, but his vision was already growing fuzzy. He stumbled, falling to his knees on the golden street. As consciousness began to slip away, he saw Grayden swooping down on Beauty, concern etched on his face.

“Grayden,” Sion managed to croak out before darkness claimed him.

Sion drifted in and out of consciousness, aware of movement and the rush of wind. He felt the solid warmth of Beauty beneath him, Grayden's voice urging the dragon on. Then, the clamor of the infirmary, hands lifting him onto a table, Dimitri's calm commands as he worked to stem the bleeding.

Through it all, one thought persisted:Selenia. He couldn't leave her, not now, not when they were so close to understanding the bond between them. With every ounce of strength he had left, Sion clung to life, to the promise of a future with the woman who had captured his heart.

As Dimitri's healing magic flowed through him, soothing the pain and knitting flesh back together, Sion's mind cleared enough to take in his surroundings. The infirmary was a flurry of activity—wounded soldiers on every available surface, healers rushing between them. And there, across the room, was Selenia.

His heart swelled at the sight of her, hair pulled back, an apron over her dress as she assisted with the wounded. Even in the midst of chaos, she radiated compassion and strength. Sion wanted to call out to her, to tell her he was alright, but his voice failed him.

As darkness began to creep in once more, Sion's last conscious thought was a prayer—not for himself, but for Selenia, for Grayden, for all those he loved.Let them be safe, he pleaded silently.Let this war end, so we can all find peace.

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