Page 47 of Unseen Eye
I glance toward Leigh—she’s darting between the wounded, hands glowing as she heals and mends the fallen. Even she looks up from her work, eyes drawn to the intensity of the fight.
Callon and the warden clash again, their blades ringing out like thunder. Each strike felt throughout the battlefield, shaking the ground beneath us. Callon’s glowing irises are locked onto his opponent, his voice steady as he snarls, “You’ll never touch her.”
The warden’s lips curl into a sneer. “We shall see,” he hisses, dripping menace with every word. He breaks the stalemate, sweeping low with his blade, forcing Callon to leap back to avoid a strike meant to sever his legs.
Without missing a beat, Callon slams his hand into the earth. A fissure erupts beneath the warden’s feet, the ground splitting apart and threatening to swallow him whole. But the warden leaps into the air, twisting in mid-flight as he hurls a ball of dark energy at Callon. The orb seethes with shadow, but Callon raises a shimmering barrier of aether, deflecting it. The two forces collide in mid-air, exploding with a blast of raw power that sends a shock rippling outward.
The battlefield holds its breath.
As the dust settles, Callon charges forward, his sword and aether working in perfect harmony. He delivers a flurry of rapid strikes, each one infused with energy.
With a final, desperate push, Callon channels all his remaining energy into one last devastating attack. His sword glowing so brightly it’s blinding. He swings down with all his strength, aiming for the warden’s heart. The warden raises his blade to block, but the sheer force of Callon’s strike is unstoppable. The dark sword shatters, shards of metal flying in all directions.
The warden staggers back, eyes wide with shock and fury. Before he can react, Callon releases a blast of energy, slamming into the warden and sending him crashing to the ground.
Breathing hard, Callon stands over him, sword still glowing with residual power. The warden, his form flickering, begins to dissipate into shadow, his voice a low, venomous growl. “This isn’t over,” he snarls, eyes burning with hatred. “He will have the girl.”
Chapter Fifteen
As the warden’s shadowy form dissolves into the night, a ripple of shock runs through the remaining shadow creatures. Without their leader, they appear disoriented, their attacks uncoordinated. Seizing the opportunity, we press our advantage, cutting down the remaining army. The battlefield quickly begins to clear, with the shadows retreating.
With the final shadowfiend defeated, a cheer rises from the remaining guards and me.
We survived. I survived.
My dress, once the prettiest I had ever worn, is now a tattered mess. The sleeves are ripped, and the fabric is stained, but somehow, it feels fitting. Like the dress, I’m no longer the same—ripped, torn, but stronger, more alive than ever. I scan the area, noticing the familiar faces still standing. Baron’s face displays pure relief as he assesses the damage. He nods approvingly at Callon before turning to issue new orders. “Reinforce the perimeter! Tend to the wounded! We need to be ready for any further attacks. And someone figure out how the hell this happened.”
Amid the aftermath, Leigh is joined by a group of healers, their hands glowing with aether. Leigh kneels beside a wounded guard, her touch soothing his open wounds. When her eyes find mine in the crowd, she tilts her head slightly, asking a silent question. I quickly shake my head—no, I am not injured. After giving me a once-over, she seems to accept my word and moves on.
Drystan sheathes his blades, a hint of satisfaction breaking through his usually impassive demeanor. The gnomes, their magic still crackling in the air, move quickly to help with thefortifications. With a wave of their hands, the earth shifts and groans, rising to form temporary walls, patching the gaps left by the crumbled sections.
I take a moment to survey the scene: hellhounds and darklings litter the ground by the hundreds. Many guards and defenders lie among them. The numbers are not as high as they could have been, thanks to the reinforcements and Callon’s foresight. Yet, a nagging sense of guilt persists that this too is all my fault.
Turning my attention back to Callon, I see him standing still, as if bracing for the warden to reappear. Exhaustion shadows his features, the dark circles under his eyes exhibiting the toll of his immense magic use. Despite the dirt and blood covering his clothing, none appears to be his own—unbeknownst to me, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Callon sheathes his swords with a smooth, practiced motion. His earlier words echo in my mind—how he didn’t see me as a burden. How he believed I would grow into my strength. However, Leigh’s warning about him rings in my ears, but he’s making it impossible to stay distant. The way he carries himself, the depth I’ve glimpsed beneath his cold exterior… I’m not just grateful to him. I’m drawn to him.
And that thought terrifies me.
Callon’s gaze meets mine, and for a moment, there’s a silent exchange—a shared understanding. He takes a step toward me, his expression softening slightly. Despite his cold demeanor with others, I’m beginning to suspect it’s all an act, hiding a deeper care. But why that care extends to me, I have no idea. Despite my best attempts to ignore it, I can no longer deny that I’m utterly attracted to him.
In other words, I’m royally screwed.
Before Callon can reach me, Garet steps in, pulling me into a hug that feels all wrong. I stand there, stiff, counting the seconds until he lets go. “You’re alive,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, as iftrying to convince himself.
I can’t suppress the irritation bubbling up inside me. “You had doubts?” The sarcasm is sharp, but it’s the only shield I have left.
The weight of our last conversation slams into me, the lies and betrayal suffocating. My chest tightens with anger, confusion, and exhaustion. I glance toward Callon, hoping he’s not watching this pathetic display. He’s not—he’s talking with Izzy now. Still, a sudden thought crosses my mind: will this battle delay Baron’s announcement of my engagement to a man I’d rather use for target practice?
Garet steps back, sensing my anger. “Eva, I’m so—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“Cut it with the shit, Garet. We both know you’re not sorry about any of it. You’re just sorry you got caught. Well, I am sorry,” emphasizing each word, “that you thought I’d be a good little pawn and follow your every command. You couldn’t have been more wrong. Fuck this, fuck that, and most importantly, fuck you.”
His face pales, eyes widening with shock. We’re standing in the middle of a battlefield, chaos all around us, yet it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of us—two strangers, no longer anything more than that. The kiss we shared seems like a distant, cruel memory.
“Can we please quit having the same damn argument over and over?” I say, my voice thick with exhaustion. “I’m so tired of it, and of empty apologies.” Turning my back on him, I walk away, leaving him there.
Instead, I focus on Leigh, who is now healing another guard. My heart skips a beat when I recognize the mop of red hair. “Oh my gods, is that Emmet?” I rush over to the scene, where Leigh is tending to a too-pale Emmet, whose abdomen bears a large, ugly gash.
