A Court of Dusk and Shadows

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: THE RECKONING

The world erupted the moment Azriel lunged. This wasn't a duel, but pure animalistic instinct unleashed. Shadows slithered from him, not precise weapons, but a raw, chaotic storm echoing the tempest within. The scent of Eris choked the very air, driving him into a frenzy.

Eris was quick to defend, a bolt of searing fire that met a vortex of whirling obsidian shadows. The very air screamed with the impact, and Ileana staggered back. This wasn't the courtly elegance of High Fae power she was accustomed to. This was the echo of an older, wilder magic—Illyrian instinct and Autumn fire woven into a storm of destruction.

The House of Wind offered no sanctuary now. Azriel tore through the delicate furnishings, stone carvings shattered with a flick of his wrist, sending shrapnel that Eris narrowly dodged. It was a desperate gambit, fueled less by strategy and more by an all-consuming need to tear apart as much of this world as he was of himself.

Eris was quick, flames flaring into shields and counterattacks of pure heat meant to scorch shadow and flesh alike. But Azriel danced within the chaos, Illyrian wings allowing impossible dodges in the confined space. The air reeked of ozone and the tang of scorched stone. With each shattering blow, a flicker of grim fascination grew in Eris's eyes. Was the Shadowsinger more formidable than he'd been led to believe? The realization stoked Eris's own fiery nature, making every blast and parry more precise, less fueled by simple mockery and more by an unsettling thirst for a true challenge.

They collided mid-air, and it wasn't a graceful duel, but the brutal clash of two forces of nature. The impact rattled the foundations of the ancient house, a low warning rumble drowned out by their snarls and furious exhales. Shadows snaked out, seeping into cracks in the ancient stones, threatening the very core of the building, reflecting the way that Azriel's unrestrained power threatened the delicate political game in play.

A flicker of movement outside momentarily stole Azriel's focus. It was enough. Eris landed a vicious kick, not lethal, but aimed to destabilize. Azriel stumbled, then a wave of fiery pain seared along his wing. Blood dripped onto the shattered tiles, mirroring a fresh crack in his focus.

It was his shadow that lashed out next, not at Eris, but at the wall closest to where Cassian and Nesta stood transfixed by the battle. Glass from a shattered window rained down on them, forcing them to break out of their horrified trance.

Cassian roared, the raw ferocity of an Illyrian warrior echoing Azriel's own unleashed madness. He flung himself into the fray, but a whip of Eris's searing flames drove him back, the scent of scorched leather thick in the air. Nesta snarled a stream of curses, ancient Valkyrie blood demanding she enter the fight, but her raw power couldn't breach the whirlwind of shadow and flame. Even Ileana, with her own shadowed strength, was held back by an unspoken fear. This was beyond the games they played. This was raw destruction spiraling out of control.

Each thwarted attempt spurred Azriel and Eris further.

"This over a woman, shadow boy?" He spat; his laughter edged with the sting of a fresh cut. "Seems our fiery princess enjoys stoking fires even she can't control!"

Each shattering object within the house was a mirror of Azriel's own fragile control snapping – statues became crumbling projectiles, ornate ceilings were cracked with tendrils of shadow, and the once manicured gardens erupted with displaced earth as they crashed with bruising thuds. It wasn't simply violence, but an echo of self-destruction. With each desperate blow, Azriel became less an agent of his own fury, and more a vessel for it.

Ileana was struck with the sudden horrifying revelation that this wouldn't stop with them simply battered and bruised. It would end in death, or destruction that could ripple far beyond this ruined, ancestral home. "Eris, stop this. I am no prize to be fought over like some trinket!"