Tharon

THARON

T he scent hit me first - ozone and fear mixed with something else. Something wrong. The beast in me knew that smell - the fading of life, the approach of death. My roar shook ancient metal as I burst through the final barrier, claws tearing through anything in my path.

The chamber blazed with unnatural light that hurt my enhanced vision. Strange energies made my fur stand on end, every instinct screaming at the wrongness of this place. And there, suspended in a web of glowing crystal strands, hung my mate.

Too still. Too pale. Her head lolled lifelessly to one side.

No.

“You’re too late, beast.” Father Aronn’s sneer died in his throat as my claws found it. The other priest tried to run. Neither made it to the door.

I reached for Niam, but power crackled across her skin when I touched her. The beast in me howled - I couldn’t even hold her, couldn’t gather her close one last time. Her scent was all wrong, tainted by whatever they’d done to her.

“.” Branna’s voice echoed from hidden speakers. “The shutdown sequence has begun. We’re losing containment.”

I didn’t care. Let it all burn. Let the world end. My mate was gone.

“Listen.” Another voice joined Branna’s, then another. A chorus of the lost, speaking their final words. “The crystal strands. Break them in sequence. Like a song.”

They wanted me to think about music now? But beneath my rage, I heard it - each strand hummed at a different pitch. Like the crystal wind chimes at the inn that had made Niam’s face light up with wonder. Her smile when the mountain breeze made them sing...

My claws moved with desperate precision, snapping each strand in the proper sequence. A deadly lullaby played in destruction. With each break, another voice said farewell through the speakers.

“Thank you,” they whispered. “For showing us what love could be.”

The final strand broke. Niam collapsed into my arms, her skin cold as mountain snow. I pressed my ear to her chest, straining with my enhanced hearing for any sound.

There. So faint I thought I imagined it. The slowest, weakest flutter of a heartbeat.

Alive. Barely.

“Run,” Branna commanded. “We’ll hold the collapse as long as we can.”

The ceiling groaned. Metal screamed as centuries of twisted machinery began to fail. Something that smelled like lightning crackled along the walls. I cradled Niam close, my beast’s enhanced speed carrying us through corridors that buckled and twisted.

“Left,” a young voice called. “The maintenance shaft is still stable.”

“Right at the next junction,” another guided. “We’re failing section by section. Hurry.”

I ran, following their directions through the dying Temple. Each turn brought another goodbye, another voice finding peace in these final moments. They spoke of freedom, of release, of seeing stars again after so long in darkness.

A support beam crashed down behind us. The beast’s reflexes saved us, but the path back was blocked. Ahead, the floor started to collapse, ancient metal warping and tearing. Strange energies discharged in bursts of color that hurt my eyes.

“Jump,” Branna urged. “Trust your instincts.”

I gathered Niam closer and leaped, letting the beast’s power carry us across the widening gap. Her breath - so shallow I could barely detect it - warmed my throat. The only thing that mattered.

The next corridor filled with smoke that carried the sharp tang of burning metal. I pulled Niam’s face against my shoulder, protecting her from the worst of it as the Valti’s night vision guided us through the haze.

“Three levels up,” an unfamiliar voice directed. “The central shaft is collapsing. You’ll need to--” The voice cut off in static.

“This way.” Another voice took up the guidance. “Through the processing chamber. Mind the--” That voice died too.

One by one, the voices fell silent as their sections failed. I ran through darkness broken by strange flashes, the beast’s instincts warning me which paths felt wrong. Niam’s heartbeat remained terrifyingly weak.

A massive crash behind us sent vibrations through the floor. The beast’s enhanced hearing caught the cascade of destruction approaching - metal tearing, stone breaking, something vast giving way.

“Almost to the outer ring,” Branna’s voice grew fainter. “The others wait near the tannery. We can’t... hold much longer...”

“Thank you,” I growled, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

“No.” Her final words held both sadness and joy. “Thank her. She showed us we were still human.”

The voices fell silent. Behind us, the Temple’s death throes shook the entire ring.

Niam stayed limp in my arms, but that faint heartbeat kept its weak rhythm. Hold on, my queen. Just hold on.

“Here!” Denna’s voice carried from ahead. She stood in a service doorway, Ashur and Korrin flanking her with weapons ready.

We emerged into chaos. Smoke filled the streets from strategic fires the rebels had set. The Pottswoods’ bone fires created choking white clouds that confused Temple guards. Through gaps in the haze, I glimpsed the Barrel Boys herding frightened citizens toward safety, their usual drunken swagger transformed into protective authority.

“The inner rings are secured,” Mila reported as we ran. “The guards broke ranks when the Temple started to fall. Most surrendered when they saw their priests’ power fail.”

Groups of rebels appeared and disappeared in the smoke, clearing our path. The Lehtla warriors moved with deadly efficiency, their blades finding any guards still fighting. Children darted through alleys ahead of us, passing signals in their intricate games.

In the craftsmen’s quarter, the Wickes’ network had mobilized every family. Doors opened and closed with precise timing, creating a safe corridor through the chaos. The Randalls’ leather workers stepped out of the shadows to deal with threats, then vanished again.

A squad of Temple guards tried to block our path in the merchant’s district. Before I could engage, thundering sounds filled the street. The Barrel Boys had positioned themselves on the hill above, and now massive brewing casks rolled down toward the guards. The white-robed soldiers scattered to avoid being crushed, and in their confusion, resistance fighters struck from the shadows behind them.

The tannery appeared through the smoke like a fortress. Serra stood in the loading dock doorway, her usual practical apron now adorned with knives. Her sharp eyes took in Niam’s still form, the blood coating my claws, the way our companions flanked us protectively.

“This way,” she ordered, leading us through the chemical-scented workspace to a hidden staircase. “The upper floor is defensible. I’ve prepared for casualties.”

The private family quarters above the tannery floor smelled of herbs and tanning solutions. Serra directed us to a room dominated by tall windows and rows of drying herbs. A narrow bed waited, its rough blankets clean and turned down.

“Here.” She pulled bottles and packets from shelves with swift efficiency. “Lay her down. Gently now.”

I lowered Niam to the bed, my beast raging at how lifeless she felt. Serra’s skilled hands checked her pulse, her breathing, the strange crystal burns on her skin. Years of treating tannery accidents had taught her well.

“She lives,” Serra announced, already mixing medicines. “But barely. Whatever they did in there...” She shook her head. “We’ll need all my skills. And luck.”

I sank to my knees beside the bed, finally letting my transformation fade. Every muscle screamed from abuse, but I couldn’t look away from Niam’s face. So pale, but peaceful. As if she knew she’d succeeded.

Behind me, I heard the others organizing - sending messages, coordinating with rebel leaders, beginning the massive task of rebuilding. But none of it mattered. Only the slow rise and fall of Niam’s chest held any meaning.

“Stay with me,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her cold fingers. “Please, my queen. Stay.”