A hand, cold as iron, snapped around my throat, and the world dissolved into a silent scream. Air vanished. My lungs spasmed, burning for a breath that was stolen before it could be drawn. Panic, sharp and electric, lanced through me. Who is this? Why?

My attacker was a ghost, utterly silent.

There’s no time for this, my mind shrieked. My hands flew up, not to pry at his fingers, but to clamp around his wrists. My own power, a surge of raw amethyst, answered my desperation. I didn’t just push it; I unleashed it, a torrent of crackling energy that bled from my palms directly into his veins.

He hissed, a sharp intake of breath filled with pain, and his concentration shattered. It was only an instant, but it was everything.

With a silent command, the mana erupted. Amethyst light, volatile and shimmering, burst from me, weaving into ethereal chains that coiled around his limbs and torso. They tightened, viciously, and slammed him to his knees on the tent’s canvas floor. A grunt of pain was forced from his lips. His head was bowed, his face obscured by a cascade of stark white hair. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I took a single, cautious step forward.

He wrenched his head up, and a pair of eyes the color of glacial ice met mine. The hatred in them was so pure it felt like a physical blow, a tangible force that made the air crackle. Every instinct screamed at me to run, to put distance between us, but I held my ground, forcing my feet to root to the spot.

“How dare you,” he seethed, his voice a low, predatory growl that vibrated through the floor. “Defile me with your touch? You shouldn’t even be here!”

I took another step, my spine a rod of defiant steel. “You put your hands on my throat,” I shot back, my voice gaining strength. “Did you expect a thank you?”

A humorless, ugly snort was his only reply. “And who would believe such a tale from a human? You are all liars. Deceit is your nature.”

I crossed my arms, my gaze sweeping over him, and finally landing on the elegant, knife-like points of his ears peeking through his silver hair. An elf. “And yet,” I said, leaning closer, “you’re the one lying through your teeth. You’re behaving exactly like the humans you claim to despise.”

His eyes widened, the insult striking home. I saw his right hand twitch, his fingers straining for the ornate sword hilted at his hip. My amethyst bonds flared, tightening with an audible hum and pinning his arm to his side. He shot me a venomous glare, but the raw hatred was now laced with a thread of bewildered confusion.

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice strained against the pressure of my magic. “How is this possible? There is no scent of mana on you.”

“And yet here it is,” I retorted, the bravado a thin mask for the tremor in my hands. He’s an elf. They will all hate me for what I am. “Now, tell me why you attacked me.”

“Do not take that tone with me, human,” he sneered, the hatred flooding back. “I attacked you because of your kind. Because of the filth that crawls across this world, my sister is gone.”

The words were a shard of glass in the air, and a piece of it found a home in me. His grief was a raw, open wound. He’s hurting. Just like all the others.

He pressed on, his voice cracking with a rage born of sorrow. “You are all the same. A sickness. You cannot change what you are.”

“I am sorry for your sister,” I said, the words genuine and heavy. “Truly. But her death doesn’t make us all monsters.”

“Does your pity bring her back?” he spat, his voice breaking. He let out a bitter, broken laugh that held no humor, only agony. “Of course not. Nothing can.”

No, I can’t. His grief was a dark mirror. Mother. The name was a ghost on my tongue, the memory of her laughter a sudden, hollow ache in my chest. This elf, this stranger filled with hate, understood a loss I knew all too well.

“I understand your pain,” I said, my voice softening but firm. “But it is not an excuse.”

“I saw you,” he scoffed, contempt dripping from the words. “Skulking in the shadows of the tent. I don’t know what foul magic let a human slip past the wards, but I intend to correct the oversight.”

It was useless. His grief was a fortress. The celebratory music from the camp outside felt a world away, muffling our conflict, trapping us in this bubble of violence and sorrow. I couldn’t reach him. But I couldn’t keep him here, either. Letting him go meant another attack. I had to try one last time.

“I came here with your king. With Cassius.”

“As if our king would consort with your kind,” he snarled. “Enough of this!”

Before I could even register his intent, a surge of frigid, alien power—like winter’s frost given a razor’s edge—slithered over my amethyst chains. They didn’t just break; they crystallized and shattered into a thousand glittering shards.

He was on his feet in a blur of white and silver, lunging for me. My own mana reacted on instinct, flaring into a protective amethyst shell around me.

“Predictable!” he screamed, his own mana coalescing into a lance of shimmering, icy light. It struck my shield not with a boom, but with a high-pitched crack, piercing it as if it were fragile glass.

I threw myself sideways, the lingering cold of his attack searing the air where my head had been. How? My shield has never been broken that easily.

My mana lashed out, attempting to bind him again, but he was already gone, vanishing from the spot. My power grasped at empty air. A heartbeat later, he reappeared directly in my personal space.

His hands were at my throat again, but this time a crushing wave of his energy washed over me, pinning my limbs, suffocating my own magic at its source. Panic clawed at my mind, turning my thoughts to static. Desperate, I forced a sliver of my mana into a swarm of tiny, razor-sharp daggers of light. They peppered him, one slicing his sleeve and drawing a thin bead of red, another grazing his cheek. He didn’t even flinch.

It’s not enough. I have to truly hurt him.

The thought was cold, terrifying. I began to draw on a deeper well of power, a destructive force I kept buried, preparing to unleash it.

The tent flap was torn aside.

The festive noise from the camp died instantly. King Cassius stood silhouetted against the lamplight, his presence a crushing weight that filled the space. His face was a mask of thunderous rage.

“Sylvan Lorendel,” he boomed, and the name itself was a physical blow, a wave of pure authority that slammed into us.

Sylvan’s grip on my throat vanished. His power receded, and I let my own deadly intent dissipate, my lungs finally dragging in a ragged gasp of air. He turned to face his king, giving a stiff, formal bow.

Sylvan Lorendel. The name echoed in my head, a horrifying clang of recognition. My uncle. The realization sent a violent tremor through my hands. A few seconds more, and I might have killed my own blood.

“She claimed to be with you, my King,” Sylvan said, his voice tight with resentment. He refused to look at me. “I did not believe her.”

Cassius strode into the tent, his aura a palpable storm of cold fury. He loomed over the other elf. “She is with me. That is all you needed to know. I suggest you reconsider your actions before you make a mistake you will regret for the rest of your very long life.”

A strangled, bitter laugh escaped Sylvan’s throat as he took a half-step back. Cassius gave him no ground.

His eyes narrowed. “She is the daughter of Syanna.”

Sylvan’s sneer faltered. “Syanna… had no daughter.” He shot me a venomous look, but then his eyes truly focused on my face for the first time. The glacial fury in them cracked, a flicker of stunned, impossible recognition breaking through before he shuttered it away. “She is human.” The words were a desperate denial.

“No,” Cassius said, his voice dropping to a lethally soft tone that was more terrifying than any roar. “She is not. She is half elf.”

Sylvan stared, his aristocratic features crumbling into disbelief and a dawning horror. He glanced between the king and me one last time, his icy eyes wide with a war he was losing within himself. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed from the tent, leaving a ringing, suffocating silence in his wake.