Rattle the Stars

Chapter 22 (Finale 2)

I just wanted to get something out for you poor people stuck at the mercy of my awful updating skills

There was a rip in the world. This was like the portal Aelin had been pulled through in Erilea with the keys, but with the absence of the vengeful gods and a power-sucking sacrifice. It was something very strange to look at, even after everything she had seen. She was sprinting, slashing, assessing, planning.

It took one look at the battle for her to draw upon her magic. She had only been digging for a day, spiraling down down down and she was already at the bottom. No more limitless power. But the Firebringer would survive.

She didn't know when it happened, but all at once Chaol and Dorian were at her side, as were Elide and Lorcan. Chaol was pressing Goldryn into her hand, the blade heavy and warm with ancient magic, as if it could sense the battle about to rage. Already raging, in fact.

They were all talking, chattering, Elide was holding her tight even as a group of fae soldiers spun past. Or, she assumed they were fae. They were not of Doranelle or any noble Erilean house. However, they had the bronzed skin and light, slim armor of the Day Court.

Helion was more than a pain, after all.

"Where did all of this come from?" Elide gasped, dark eyes wide. "This... other world..." She was calculating odds, observing, frighteningly sharp beneath her façade.

Aelin smiled, wicked and sharp. "I'm not quite done yet... now, we have a second, otherworldly army. Oh, and a second Valg King to deal with, on top of Maeve and Erawan." Everyone stared at her, wide-eyed, and she had the strangest urge to laugh.

Actually laugh.

Behind her, in that terrible divide, she was fairly sure that the Spring Court was being torn apart. Good riddance-

Her friends were staring, all of them gaping like fish out of water, before a group of witches passed so close that they all had to duck to avoid being slashed to pieces by searching claws. The Wyverns were tailed by nimble ruks, with brave riders atop.

Aelin did not stop to bid goodbye to her friends before pulling into the fray. It was a struggle now, as the reality sank in. It was time to start doing something with her blade.

The khagan's army had come. She hadn't fully comprehended it yet, but the sheer amount of firepower in these two worlds was staggering. Aelin spun across the battlefield, blood flying beneath her assassins' touch. She may be a queen and a fae, but right now, she had called upon a mask that had served her dutifully many a time. Screams were her only music now, the dead her only companions.

And if Aelin thought she could be a warrior, the Court of Dreams in itself was terrifying.

Anywhere Rhys stepped foot, Valg turned to black mist. Bloody mist. Feyre was setting wolves of water upon any unsuspecting enemy soldiers, Mor and Azriel at her back, protecting her.

Not, of course, that the High Lady needed protecting. Cassian swooped among the ranks of witches and ruks, dodging stray wyverns and protecting anyone he could with crimson shields. They were a deadly, terrifyingly synchronized unit.

A rattling, raging boom shook the earth. Orynth. Orynth's gates- she was on the opposite side of the battlefield, despite the rip in it's middle. Now Aelin had a purpose beyond those previously established, the promise sworn by the cadre. It felt like time was stretched out, slowed, and all that existed was her and the legendary sword, fighting together as the battle raged.

Aelin's sword slowed. There, just watching them, was the Lord of the North. Crouched on the edge of a field bearing death, was Brannon's being of glorious life. His horns flamed, body alight with an immortal glow. The beautiful creature approached, tossing it's head. A battle raged around them, but this moment seemed very still. With a bowing head the stag beckoned.

He could get her across the battlefield. This magnificent creature would help her. Slowly, so slowly, Aelin swung herself onto his back. As far as she was concerned, the Lord of the North had never assisted any human in this way before.

A sacred moment for the both of them, in between bloodshed and horror and the sting of sorrow. So Aelin leaned forward and whispered in the stag's ear. He gave her a long and wizened look in response, then dipped his head once.

A nod, and a salute.

No. Aelin Galathynius would not die tonight.