Chapter 420 The whispered promise

Chapter 420: Chapter 420 The whispered promise

Talia’s POV

I did not hold back.

I let the power of my bloodline pour out of me, I let it fill the sky, and I let it consume everything around us.

It was not just sound. It was power, and it was light, and it was every Silvertongue who had ever lived.

I could feel them with me. My mother, and my grandmother, and every ancestor who had come before me.

The power surged through me like a wave. It started in my chest, and it spread to my arms, and it spread to my legs, and it spread to every part of my body.

It was hot, and it was cold, and it was alive.

It was the feeling of coming home to a place I had never been, of hearing a song I had never learned but somehow knew by heart. It was ancient and new all at once, and it filled every empty space inside me that I had not even known was empty.

It was the power of my bloodline, and it was finally awake.

I could feel my mother’s love. I could feel my grandmother’s strength. I could feel the fury of every Silvertongue who had been hunted and killed and erased from history.

I could not see them, but I could feel them, like hands resting on my shoulders, like voices whispering in my ear, and like a thousand heartbeats syncing with my own.

They were not ghosts, and they were not memories. They were the blood in my veins and the fire in my chest, and they had been waiting for this moment for as long as I had.

They were with me. They had always been with me.

"I am here," I told them. "I am ready. Help me."

They were in my blood, and they were in my voice, and they were waiting.

Malachai froze. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but no sound came out.

He tried to move, he tried to lift his hand, and he tried to step back. But his body would not obey him.

He was frozen in place. His feet were rooted to the ground, and his arms were locked at his sides, and his mouth was open in a scream that would not come.

I could see the war raging inside him, the desperate attempt to break free, to move, to flee. But the power that held him was older than he was, and stronger than he had ever been, and it would not let him go.

I did not speak in the common tongue. I did not use a spell I had learned from a book.

"Let the words come," I told myself. "Let them come from the blood."

I opened my mouth, and the words came from somewhere deeper. They came from my blood. They came from my bones. They came from every Silvertongue who had ever lived and died.

"Sha’kala mor’eth. Vas’kala sil’verath."

The words were ancient. They were older than the packs. They were older than the Ashen Lands. They were older than Malachai himself.

The air around me began to hum. It was a low sound, like a heartbeat, like a thousand heartbeats all beating at once. The hairs on my arms stood up, and the ground beneath my feet began to tremble.

The sky above us began to darken. The gray clouds swirled and churned, and they turned black. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and deep, like the growl of a beast waking from a long sleep.

Lightning flashed across the sky. It was not white. It was gold. It was the color of Silvertongue magic. It lit up the battlefield, and it lit up Malachai’s face, and it showed the fear in his eyes.

The wind picked up. It howled through the Ashen Lands, and it whipped my hair around my face, and it tugged at my clothes. The dead earth beneath my feet began to crack, and the cracks glowed with the same golden light that was pouring out of Malachai.

Malachai’s body began to crack.

It started at his chest, right where his heart should have been. A thin line of light appeared, like a fissure in a stone wall. Then another line. Then another.

The cracks spread, and they spread fast.

They raced down his arms, and they climbed up his neck, and they crossed his face. They were everywhere, and they were glowing.

He screamed.

It was not a human scream. It was the scream of something ancient, and something empty, and something afraid. It was the scream of a creature who had lived for centuries and had never once felt pain, and who was now feeling it all at once.

He tried to move. He tried to run. He tried to escape. But his body would not obey him.

He was frozen in place.

The corrupted wolves nearest to us stopped fighting. They turned their black eyes toward Malachai, and they watched. Some of them took a step back. Some of them whimpered. They could feel what was happening. They could feel their master dying.

The allied wolves stopped too. Jax lowered his sword. Silas froze mid-strike. Cain stood still, his blade dripping with blood, and he watched.

Everyone watched.

"By the Moon Goddess," Alpha Stone whispered, his voice barely audible. "What is she doing?"

"She is ending him," Silas replied, his voice calm but filled with awe. "She is ending him the way only a Silvertongue can."

Jax did not speak. He just stood there, his sword hanging loose at his side, his mouth slightly open, watching the impossible unfold.

"Luminara shal’eth. Vas’kala mor’eth."

The words poured out of me, and they were not just words. They were light, and they were fire, and they were the fury of every Silvertongue who had been hunted and killed and erased from history.

Light poured out of Malachai.

It was golden, and it was bright, and it was warm. It burst from his chest, and his arms, and his legs. It burst from his eyes, and his mouth, and his fingertips.

He was being unmade. His skin was peeling away, layer by layer, and the light was pouring out of him like water from a broken dam. He was being destroyed from the inside out.

The ground shook beneath us. The sky cracked open. The thunder rolled across the Ashen Lands like the voice of the Moon Goddess herself.

The ground cracked open in places. Golden light spilled out of the fissures, and it rose into the air like smoke. The trees in the distance bent and swayed, and some of them fell. The mountains in the distance trembled.

The Moon Goddess was watching. I could feel her. She was with me, and she was with my ancestors, and she was with every wolf who had ever been wronged by Malachai.

I watched. I did not look away.

"Sha’kala sil’verath. Mor’eth kala vas’kala."

The chant grew louder. It was not just my voice anymore. It was the voice of every Silvertongue who had ever lived. It was the voice of my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her. It was the voice of the village that had burned. It was the voice of the children who had died.

It was the voice of justice.

It was the voice of every mother who had lost a child, every child who had lost a mother, every wolf who had been told that they were nothing and had refused to believe it.

It was the voice of everyone who had ever been silenced, and now, it would not be silenced anymore.

The chant was not just words anymore. It was a force. It was a storm. It was the fury of a bloodline that had been silenced for too long.

I thought of my mother.

"This is for you," I whispered. "This is for all of you."