Alaric POV
Two days.
That’s how long it had been since Abby and Prince Damian Lucien left for the capital. Two days since I’d last seen her smirk, her spark. Since I’d felt her lightning graze the air beside me like an unspoken promise.
And in those two days, we’d barely pushed through a third of the rift’s first wave.
Ten casualties now. Ten warriors who had fought and bled under my command, their bodies burned and broken beyond saving. I’d ordered the camp perimeter reinforced twice. Sent scouts twice as often. It wasn’t enough. The rift was stronger than any we’d faced before — as if something was feeding it from beyond.
And there I was. Kneeling in the mud, the acidic blood of an orc hissing against my boots as I pried another mana stone from its remains. My hands, gloved and tire
