She hadn’t been ready for any goodbye. Not Thorion, not Seba, not Shivnath . . . not the million goodbyes she was about to face.
“You don’t have to say goodbye,” Valerion told her softly. “All you have to do is let go.”
Keriya’s brows drew together. Slowly, she looked down at her left hand, the hand that had clasped Helkryvt’s. It was clenched in a clammy fist, and from that fist stemmed shining threads, slender and so subtle as to be almost invisible.
The spectral threads lanced in all directions, faded into nothingness, but instinct told her they connected to every shadowbeast on the field. She could feel them—the thrum of every dead heart, the energy of each soul Necrovar had stolen.
The magnitude of what she held unfolded within her. Awareness of every lost creature bloomed in her
