The Temple of Binding shuddered as something vast and violent slammed into the mountainside.
Rhaelle’s eyes snapped toward the entrance.
Vaelen stiffened.
Brakus whimpered, half-beast, stepping back.
Ariaxa’s eyes flew open.
The distant roar reverberated through her bones.
Kaedan.
The Triarchs’ guards rushed to the doors, raising shields, spears, and shadow wards.
Then—
The temple doors exploded inward.
Not opened.
Not broken.
Ripped off their hinges in a shower of stone and splinters.
Kaedan stood framed in the shattered doorway like a nightmare forged from blood and wrath.
Breathing hard.
Body shaking.
Eyes glowing with a feral, hellish gold-red light.
Not a man.
A storm.
A monster they had made.
A god they could not control.
A force that no army, no spell, no kingdom could stop.
The soldiers didn’t even cry out.
They simply died.
Kaedan tore through them with his bare hands, ripping armor apart, crushing throats, hurling bodies like broken dolls. Blood sprayed across ancient walls. Shadows fled from him.
Riven’s battalion stormed in behind him, clashing with Triarch troops outside the ruin.
But Kaedan barely noticed the battle around him.
His gaze locked on one thing.
One person.
Ariaxa.
Chained.
Bleeding.
Gagged.
Surrounded by runes drinking her blood.
Shadow-thorns buried in her skin.
His breath shattered.
Something inside him detonated.
A scream ripped from him — so primal, so vicious it shook the carved pillars of the ancient temple.
Vaelen cursed.
Rhaelle flinched.
Brakus stumbled back in terror.
Kaedan surged across the temple floor like a predator unleashed.
Rhaelle threw a bolt of shadow-fire — black flames screaming through the air.
Kaedan didn’t dodge.
He shielded Ariaxa with his own body.
The flames hit him full-force.
His skin blistered.
His back seared.
He screamed — a raw, brutal sound of pain and determination.
Ariaxa cried out behind her gag, eyes wide with horror, trying to warn him, trying to stop him.
But Kaedan didn’t move.
He planted himself between her and the attack, taking every ounce of agony she would have suffered.
“TOUCH HER AGAIN,” he roared, voice breaking, “AND I WILL OBLITERATE YOU.”
Rhaelle stepped back — actually stepped back — at the force of it.
Vaelen, seeing an opening, lunged for Ariaxa with a jagged blade of shadow-venom.
Ariaxa choked and twisted, trying to avoid it—
But Kaedan moved faster.
He tackled Vaelen so violently the marble cracked beneath them.
He pinned the Triarch heir to the ground—
And began beating him.
No strategy.
No mercy.
No restraint.
Just raw, savage fury.
Each impact echoed through the temple like thunder.
Bone splintered.
Blood splattered across Kaedan’s face and arms.
Vaelen screamed, flailing beneath him.
Kaedan didn’t stop.
Not when Vaelen begged.
Not when Rhaelle shouted.
Not when Brakus howled.
He beat him like he meant to erase him from existence.
Like every strike blamed Vaelen for Ariaxa’s suffering.
For her capture.
For her chains.
For her tears.
For everything.
Ariaxa sobbed behind her gag, straining against her bonds.
“Kaedan—Kaedan—stop—”
But he couldn’t hear her.
The bond roared with fury and terror and love and madness.
Rhaelle, shaking with rage and panic, realized something:
He would kill Vaelen.
Then slaughter Brakus.
Then destroy her.
Unless—
She finished the ritual.
Rhaelle rushed to the altar, slamming her palms against the final runes.
“BINDING PHASE THREE — ACTIVATE!”
The runes erupted in blinding silver light, screaming with ancient power.
Ariaxa gasped.
The shadow-chains constricted.
The runes drank deeper.
The thorns tore into her skin.
And then—
Her collar.
The ancient Elyndor slave collar Kaedan had snapped around her throat the day she arrived in Vharon.
It glowed.
Then ignited.
With fire.
With pain.
With magic designed to break Sunborn will.
Ariaxa’s eyes widened in terror.
The collar burned bright white—
—and ignited.