Time seemed to fracture. The thunder of boots and the jangle of armor from the corridor were deafening. Elara stood bathed in a nimbus of silvery light, one hand raised, gathering power for a defensive—or offensive—strike. Her face was a mask of fear and righteous fury.
Sera didn't hesitate. The plan was ash. Now, it was about survival. She abandoned her attempt to subdue the diviner and instead lunged for the desk, upending it with a grunt of effort. The heavy oak slab crashed to the floor, sending parchment and ink pots flying, creating a temporary barrier between them and the doorway.
"Kael, the window!" she shouted.
But the window was small, high, and leaded. It would take precious seconds to break through, seconds they didn't have.
The first guard burst into the room, his sword drawn. He was a bear of a man, his armor emblazoned with the Temple's sun-and-eye. He took in the scene—the overturned desk, the terrified diviner, the two mud-streaked intruders—and roared, charging straight for Sera.
Kael acted on instinct. He didn't draw the katana. He didn't try to summon the void. He simply stepped into the guard's path, the Mistress Path's cold energy flaring in a purely reflexive defense. He wasn't trying to attack; he was trying to be a wall.
The guard's sword, meant for Sera, slammed into Kael's raised forearm. There was a flash of blackish-silver light, a sound like shattering ice. The guard cried out, stumbling back, his blade now coated in a rime of frost, his hand numb. Kael gasped, his own arm exploding in fresh agony, the old wound screaming in protest. He had blocked it, but the cost was a deep, bone-chilling cold that shot straight to his shoulder.
It bought Sera the moment she needed.
As the guard staggered, she moved like a viper. She didn't have a weapon. She was the weapon. A sharp, precise kick to the back of the man's knee sent him crashing to the floor. A second, brutal stomp to his sword hand made him release his grip with a pained yell.
Elara watched, horrified, her gathered light faltering. "Stop this! In the name of the Gods—"
"The gods have nothing to do with this!" Kael snarled, clutching his frozen arm, his breath pluming in the suddenly frigid air of the room. The Mistress Path was awake now, angry and defensive, feeding on his pain and fear. The black lines on his arm writhed, glowing with a faint, malevolent light.
More guards piled into the doorway, their faces grim. They saw their comrade on the ground and the two dangerous fugitives. Sera stood poised over the disarmed guard, her eyes calculating their dwindling odds. Kael stood panting, a low growl of pain and power rumbling in his chest, the air around him growing unnaturally cold.
They were trapped. Outnumbered. The mission was a catastrophic failure.
Elara stared at Kael, her diviner's sight seeing past the mud and the pain, to the core of the chaotic, frozen power raging within him. She saw the corruption, the stain of Lilith. But she also saw the boy, his eyes wide with fear and determination, protecting his companion. The textbook "monster" was not mindlessly destroying. It was fighting to survive.
Her certainty wavered.
"Hold!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension.
The guards hesitated, looking to her for direction.
Elara's gaze was locked on Kael. "You... you are the one from the city. The forbidden bearer." Her eyes flicked to Sera. "And you... your power is... bound. Why are you here? Why not just kill me?"
Sera met her gaze, her own breathing heavy. "Because we are not assassins. We were sent to be. We chose not to be."
The truth, stark and simple, hung in the air. It was a confession that could get them killed, but it was also their only remaining card to play.
The standoff was absolute. The guards, confused by their diviner's order. Elara, wrestling with a lifetime of doctrine against the evidence before her eyes. Kael and Sera, wounded and cornered, their fate resting on the conscience of the woman they had come to abduct.
In the ringing silence, the only sound was the ragged breath of four people, and the faint, ominous crackle of frost spreading from Kael's feet.