Page 56 of The Reckoning of Starlight

To unmake a colony, hunt its edges. Whisper first. Infect quietly. One by one, strangle the workers with roots. Starve the hive of its servants.

Then burn the queen.

CHAPTER 13

SERENNA

Serenna couldn’t look away from the king.

Galaeryn thrummed with Essence. Power bled from every surface of him—crystal spikes crowning his boots, rings burning on his fingers like leashed suns, pauldrons edged in frozen twilight.

In his armor, he rose tall and severe, each measured step a graceful procession. His silver hair shimmered too bright around an unnaturally smooth face, its symmetry honed past beauty into threat.

He looked younger than Vesryn. That was the part that unsettled Serenna the most—his sire wearing a face centuries hadn’t aged.

The air warped around him as they walked, Essence pressing against Serenna’s skin like the charge before a storm. She trailed behind Ayla and the king in silence, caged between Taryn and the arch elf reavers with Fenn at her shoulder and no path forward except obedience.

Galaeryn had glanced at their wings once. A smirk had curled his lip before he turned away, a casual dismissal that crawled up Serenna’s spine.

Enemies required attention. Prisoners required guarding. Weapons required care. To him, she and Fenn were only materials already sorted for use.

The full force of Centarya had assembled across the Spire’s lawns, grass nearly erased by polished boots. Rows of uniformed initiates stood in disciplined blocks, a lone magus anchoring each formation while the handful of magisters waited apart, still as sentinels. Nearly a thousand Essence-wielders.

Ahead of Serenna, Ayla spoke to the king, composed and crisp as frost. “I’ve learned enough of Asharyn. Their druids have blood-bound themselves to the artifacts they possess. If we claim them, we control their power.”

She addressed the most dangerous being Serenna had ever stood near, and not one syllable shook. Serenna’s own pulse was already sprinting at the mention of artifacts—Starshards. The scales forced onto Serenna’s skin prickled, too hot and tight, as if her own body wanted out.

Galaeryn’s eyes swept over the ranks, silver light burning cold behind them.

“Convenient that they put the noose around their throats for us.” His mouth thinned. “Their obedience will be swift.” His gaze slid from the ranks to Ayla. “Subdue the city. Prove your command is more than an indulgence I granted to Elashor.”

Ayla’s jaw tightened. “I secured a Heart of Stars from that winter fortress.”

“And that,” Galaeryn said, halting, “hardly cancels out your failures there.” He turned to face her. “Your bloodline is the only reason you have your position.” The crystals embedded in his breastplate pulsed as he ignited Essence. “Elashor has assured me that your line is as close to pure as we can produce for the Aelfyn.”

He lifted a hand, hovering his palm over her abdomen, sinking magic through her armor. The power settled low, assessing her womb with the same dispassion he’d given the assembled ranks.

Ayla flinched—barely—but didn’t step back. Her gaze never left the king’s.

“Female,” Galaeryn clipped. “The forming vessel is strong. As expected. But we don’t have time to wait for your body to ripen.”

Serenna’s breath stopped somewhere behind her ribs. Only hours ago, Elashor had forced Jassyn’s magic into her body, and the echo of that invasive warmth pulsed low in her middle.

“We’ll accelerate the vessel,” the king said. “We need to know if your bloodline can serve them.”

Power unfurled from Galaeryn’s fingertips in a crimson lattice. Serenna couldn’t follow the pattern pouring into Ayla’s womb—only the way Essence latched deeper, thread by thread, altering her sister’s body.

Ayla’s fists curled at her sides while his Essence burrowed into her.

Galaeryn didn’t lower his hand. “In the meantime, capture these druids and claim their artifacts. Extract their secrets. Reverse this sterility curse properly.” His attention drifted back to the ranks, Essence still weaving into Ayla while her body became another campaign to manage. “Then we’ll breed pure hosts for the Aelfyn. No more diluted blood.”

Hosts.

The word shuddered through Serenna as the king extinguished his power and turned away, finished with Ayla. He meant to bring the Aelfyn here. Into living skin. His own people carved out to make room.

At her shoulder, Fenn’s wing talons clenched so tight the joints cracked.

Ayla’s composure returned before Serenna’s breath did. She lifted her chin and tucked a strand of crimson hair behind the point of an ear, continuing along the formations beside the king.