The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 221

The moment Saphira said *no*, something shifted.

A spark ignited in the air, small at first, then roaring to life as the pack surged forward behind her. Wounded or not, they rose. They rallied, not because they thought they would win, but because they refused to die on their knees.

Saphira felt the surge of it through the mind-link, courage, fury, love. It filled her chest like breath after drowning, steadying her hands, sharpening her focus.

*“Now,”* Nikolas called through the link. *“Together.”*

Nikolas was beside her, his wings drawn wide, his magic crackling like lightning in his veins. The inner circle moved with him, their bond a current of precision and power.

And for a moment, they pushed the Core back.

The golden-robed figures faltered, their perfect formation disrupted. One staggered under a blast of wind. Another was knocked to their knees by a dragon’s tail. A vampire’s blade flashed, cutting through a robe, drawing blood. The chamber rang with the clash of magic and steel, the roar of spells, the cries of the living. The air was thick with smoke and the harsh tang of burning stone.

Saphira fought with everything she had, fast, relentless, pushing through every doubt. Her claws slicing everything she could, her magic flared with each strike. She and Nikolas moved as one, their bond weaving them together, their rhythm unbroken.

But then the Core retaliated in a way that made it seem like they were toying with them up to now.

They regrouped in an instant, their circle tightening, their voices rising in a single, unified pulse. A wave of golden energy erupted from their circle, slamming into the pack like a shockwave. Shields cracked. Bones broke. Screams echoed. Wolves were thrown against the walls, witches staggered, dragons reeled mid-flight. The ground itself split, stone cracking beneath the force.

Saphira was hurled backward, her body hitting the floor hard. Pain shot through her ribs as she rolled, gasping, ears ringing. Her vision blurred, but she forced herself up, her hands trembling.

And then she heard it.

A cry, not of pain, but of warning.

Anastasia.

Saphira turned just in time to see her, arms and wings outstretched, shielding two younger wolves with her body. The blast struck her full in the chest. The light swallowed her, burning against her skin, tearing through her defences.

She crumpled.

“No!” Saphira screamed, stumbling forward, her legs barely holding. She fell to her knees beside Anastasia, her hands shaking as she reached for her. Asher rushed to their side, his hands trembling.

Her eyes fluttered open, just once.

“Saphira… Asher, my children.” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile against the chaos. “You can beat them. I love you both…”

Her hand twitched against Saphira’s, then stilled.

And she was gone.

The chamber roared around them, magic clashing, steel ringing, but for Saphira, the world narrowed to silence, hew world broken in two. Her breath caught, her heart clenched, and grief surged through her like fire.

She bowed her head over Anastasia’s body, her tears falling hot against the cold stone. She looked at Asher; she could see the same heartbreak in his eyes.

The world narrowed to a single point.

Saphira stared down at her, at the woman who had only just came into her life and had repaired the hole she had in her heart all these years. Now her body lay crumpled on the black stone floor, blood pooling like ink beneath her. The warmth was already fading from her skin. Her eyes, those sharp, fire-lit eyes, were open, but empty.

Gone.

Something inside Saphira didn’t just crack.

It thundered.

She rose slowly, as if pulled upward by something ancient and terrible. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in shallow bursts. But there were no tears. No sobs. The grief didn’t come softly, it came on like heat. Like a scream buried so deep it had turned to fire.

Nikolas reached for her, but she was already moving.

Magic surged through her body, wild and uncontained. It poured from her skin in waves, the air around her warping with the force of it. Her eyes glowed silver-violet, her hair lifting in the current as her wings unfolded. The chamber trembled beneath her feet.

“Saphira,” Nikolas said, stepping beside her, voice low and urgent. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He placed a hand on her back, and she felt it, a warm current flowing into her, like he was giving her his power. She knew she wasn’t in the right frame of mind for it. Her grief was too vast, too sharp. It twisted her magic into something volatile, something barely tethered to her will. But it was too late to stop. She had to do this; she had to destroy them.

The Core staggered under the force of it. Their golden robes whipped in the wind. Their perfect formation faltered. But still, they came. Step by step, eyes locked on her, relentless.

Saphira screamed, not in pain, but in fury. In heartbreak. The sound tore through the chamber, and her magic exploded outward in a shockwave of light and power. The walls cracked. The floor splintered. Several Core members were thrown back, their robes scorched, their faces twisted in surprise.

But still, they came.

Nikolas gritted his teeth; his hand moved to her shoulder. “You’re burning too fast,” he gasped. “You have to focus—”

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I can’t stop it.”

Then Raven stepped forward, her cloak billowing behind her, her eyes glowing with shadowed magic. “Nikolas,” she said, urgency in every syllable. “I can help. I can support the spell, confine and direct it. But I need to link with her.”

Nikolas nodded, desperation in his voice. “Do it.”

Raven raised her hands, but before she could begin, another figure stepped beside her.

A woman in deep violet robes, her silver hair woven down her back. Her presence was quiet, but commanding. She placed a hand on Raven’s shoulder.

“You’ll need me,” she said. “Two elder witches will be stronger.”

Saphira turned, her vision blurred with light and grief, and recognition struck her like lightning.

It was the same witch she’d seen at the battle with the Silvermoon pack. The one who had vanished before she could speak to her. The one who had watched her with knowing eyes.

Now, those eyes met hers again. And the woman nodded, a gesture of respect. Of solidarity. Of fate.

Then she joined hands with Raven.

Together, they stepped into the storm.

Their magic rose like twin pillars. It wrapped around Saphira’s power, not to cage it, but to shape it. To give it form. To give it purpose.

Saphira felt it, like hands on her shoulders, like breath in her lungs. Her magic stopped lashing and began to sharpen. To aim.

Nikolas held her steady, his power still flowing into hers, unwavering.

And for the first time, the Core stopped advancing.

They braced.

Because now, Saphira wasn’t just grief.

She was vengeance. She was unity. She was the storm.