Page 95 of Shadowkissed

I lay Dante gently on the earth and stand.

My heart’s already broken. And now, so is my mercy.

I rise slowly, like the sky might tremble beneath me. My feet hover just above the dirt, dust swirling around me in soft spirals. The world sharpens—colors too vivid, air too still. The battlefield quiets as if the very fabric of reality knows what’s coming.

My magic thrums beneath my skin—wild and hot andright. Light threads with shadow. Celestial blood hums in harmony with fae fire.

I am the prophecy.

And I’mchoosinghow it ends.

“You never had a claim on me,” I say softly, power laced through every syllable. “You only ever had fear. And fear isn’t enough anymore.”

Seraphiel sneers, his wings flaring wide, eyes blazing. “You think you can destroyme?”

“I don’t think,” I say, stepping forward. “I know.”

He strikes first.

A spear of molten magic, jagged and black with void-light.

I raise one hand, palm glowing like a dying star, andcatch it.

It sizzles. Screams. And dies.

His eyes widen.

I whisper the old words then. Not Fae. Not Celestial.

But both.

Language forged in the bones of stars and the roots of the first forest. Words no one speaks anymore—not because they were forgotten, but because they wereforbidden.The words I used in the ritual to pull all my power within me.

“Vel aetha na’sirae... sol’thir vel’en mael.”

The battlefield shivers.

Seraphiel lunges, fury unchecked, mouth twisted in a snarl.

But I am already above him—wreathed in light, cloaked in shadow, every part of mealiveandfreeandmine.

I raise both hands and unleash everything.

The power hits him like judgment.

Raw starlight. Ancient fire. Shadow born of prophecy.

It swallows his scream, drowns his wings, shatters the armor veined with blood-magic. His body fractures in the air—cracks spiderwebbing across his chest, light bursting from within like his own corruption turned on him.

“No—” he chokes. “You were meant to be mine.”

“I was never yours,” I whisper. “I was never anyone’s.”

My magic twists around his form, pulsing with the rhythm of the worlds.

Then, I speak the final phrase.

“Valis’na... en’rel.”

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