Page 59 of Stolen Star

When he finally moves over me, his hips settling between mine with agonizing slowness, I feel the full weight of what I’m giving up—and what I’m gaining.

My humanity for eternity. My mortality for power. My old life for one with the man I love.

The stretch of him inside me pulls a gasp from my lips, and he stills for a beat, like he wants to memorize the sound. Then he moves—slow and devastating, deep and controlled—as if he’s carving the shape of forever into my body. Like this is a ritual, and I’m the altar.

And as we lose each other in the shadowy cocoon ofhis wings, I realize this isn’t just goodbye to my humanity.

It’s hello to my forever.

SAPPHIRE

We descendfrom the surface of Mount Etna, following a narrow path that spirals downward into the crater. Each step takes us deeper into a world that feels increasingly alien—a realm where the normal rules of nature bend and blur beneath the volcano’s ancient power.

“Stay close,” Riven says to me, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other reaching for mine, as if he’s afraid he might lose me if I move too far away from him.

Thalia leads the way, her grief giving her reckless courage as she descends into the inferno. Water swirls protectively around her, but even that isn’t enough to shield her from the blistering heat.

The further we descend, the more bizarre our surroundings become. Vents in the volcanic rock release plumes of steam that glow with eerie red light. The airbecomes thick, my clothes sticking to my skin, each breath a conscious effort.

“By the gods,” Thalia gasps as we round the final bend.

Riven and I come to a sudden stop behind her. Because before us stretches a vast chamber—the heart of the volcano.

It’s breathtaking. Magma flows in glowing rivers across the floor. The ceiling arches impossibly high above, and the walls are solid obsidian, polished to a mirror shine, reflecting our images back at us in twisted, dancing patterns.

I’m barely orienting myself when the ground rumbles and the floor cracks, lines of magma seeping through like veins of molten gold.

In an instant, the Star Disc is in my hand, its energy pulsing in rhythm with the tremors beneath our feet.

Riven steps closer to me as three distinct mounds emerge from the magma pool.

They glow red-hot, cooling as they take form, as if sculpted by invisible hands into… ourselves.

But they’re not us. Not really. Because the me I’m looking at is one I’d recognize anywhere. She’s the twisted version of myself from my nightmares. As always, her eyes are empty, devoid of conscience or remorse, and her hands and arms are coated with dried blood.

Next to her stands a corrupted version of Riven. The Lonely King, but twisted into something fiery and cruel. His eyes burn with malice, and his crown is hot magma instead of ice, veins of red spreading under his feet in jagged, threatening patterns.

A pained whimper sounds from Thalia’s throat, and I follow her gaze to see Maeris directly ahead of her. But like the versions of me and Riven, Maeris iswrong.His features are twisted into a mask of hatred, his stance aggressive where it had once been loyal and protective.

“This can’t be real,” Thalia says, water surging around her in chaotic waves.

“It’s not,” Riven says, but his voice lacks conviction, his gaze locked on his dark counterpart.

Suddenly, the floor between us splits, and I stumble backward as the ground beneath me rises, separating from the main floor to form a floating obsidian platform. Across the chamber, Riven and Thalia experience the same, each of us now isolated on our own dark island in a sea of molten rock.

“Riven!” I call out, but my voice is swallowed by the rumble of shifting stone and hissing magma.

Movement nearby snaps my attention back to my immediate surroundings.

The shadow version of me is on the opposite edge of my platform, perfectly still, watching me with thosedead eyes. Blood drips from her fingers, sizzling when it hits the stone.

My Star Disc pulses in my hand. Not in warning, but in recognition. As if my weapon knows this twisted version of myself as well as it knows itself.

The other me doesn’t attack.

“What do you want?” I ask, staying grounded, ready to throw the Star Disc in a perfect arc to slice her throat if she does so much as raise a finger against me.

She lifts her hand, and a shadow version of my Star Disc materializes in her palm, sparks of fire trailing from its edges. Just as sharp. Just as deadly.

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