Daniel Newwyn
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Severa Book 1 (Chapter 12)
🕑 Added 2025-08-16 21:53:17 +0000 UTCThe last time Severa Montreal had felt fear was last week, when she was jumpscared by a medium-sized spider. That one was lame; she didn’t talk about that. The time before that, however, was real. She had stood before the examination dais and felt her focus drain away, knowing the spell wasn’t going to form. It had been a light thaumaturgy test; an element that she could execute in her sleep. Her Eidolon of Luminance had been so beautiful, so elegant, that she had spun it again and again, weaving cascades of refracted light into intricate patterns just to demonstrate her surplus control. Not a single thread of aether had slipped; she had made it look effortless. The professors had nodded. Some students had even applauded.
And then came the final repetition.
It was there that she’d learned the limit of her aether pool.
Today, she’d be learning the limits of her body.
The humongous hand smashed through Severa’s diamond shield as it hurled her over the hole it’d just punched.
She arced across the chamber. Then the final level unfolded before her eyes.
The dungeon had opened into an impossible cavern, so vast her mind struggled to hold it all at once. An endless ceiling of rime and frost curved high above, serrated spires of ice spiralling up a sky glazed over in glacial blue. It was as though an entire mountain had been hollowed out and inverted.
And then—a blot of darkness. A single, uneven spot that seemed to absorb the light around it, like a wound in the cavern itself. She couldn’t focus on it properly; the speed of her flight twisted perspective, and the shadows shifted as she spun past.
Amidst it all, moving with the inevitability of an avalanche, was a dragonkin at least four times her size.
Its scales were slabs of glacier, translucent and veined with frozen rivers of light, every breath coiling into storms of diamond dust. Its body alone filled the center of the chamber as though the lair had been carved for it, an organism the size of a cathedral pacing inside its own ribcage.
Severa’s gaze snagged on its eyes—twin spheres of winter, deep and merciless—and for one moment she knew: she would meet her end today.
No. I must live.
Her reflexes snapped back into focus. She twisted, dragging wind into a desperate spiral behind her back. The gust caught, slowing her arc just enough to glide her down toward a ledge of ice. Her boots scraped, skidding for purchase, but she remained upright.
The potion she’d forced down before this chamber still thrummed in her veins. She could call on her full strength again. But the belt at her waist felt far too light. One vicious swing from the dragonkin had scattered the rest of her potions into the abyss.
So this would be it. One fight. And only as much aether as her pool would let her hold before the edge gave way.
She wondered if Halveth had been safe. Without her aunt at her side, she felt the air press colder against her skin. She had always imagined herself self-sufficient, but the truth broke over her now: she felt unsafe, exposed, a child dressed in diamond glass and bravado. The cavern was too vast, and she was too alone.
But I’m not alone, am I?
The thought came: she could wake DeShawn up. It had given her potentially useful numbers before. Maybe there would be something it would do. At the very least, it would whisper something in her ears. Tell her she wouldn’t die alone.
Survival first. Then find Aunt Merry. That is your directive. A Montreal doesn’t die in dungeons.
The thought barely formed before the dragonkin moved.
It had watched her land. Out of reach, yes—but not out of sight.
The glacier-beast stooped. When it rose again, a weapon was in its hand: a trident sculpted of packed rime and frozen veins, its prongs honed to spears of glassy death. The haft alone was thicker than her torso.
A name tore its way out of memory. Frostbound Juggernaut. Threat rating: Epic—for a Party of four. Do not engage alone.
Elemental susceptibility: fire, light, plasma, magma.
The Frostbound Juggernaut’s trident sounded like an avalanche as it came down.
Shards of ice spun outward in a deadly hail.
Severa’s hands had already flown to the glyphs seared into her gloves. “Lift,” she hissed. A swirl of wind coiled beneath her boots, catching, trembling, stuttering—then launching her skyward in a lurch that nearly sent her tumbling right. Flight had never been her forte.
Her teeth clicked shut as the gust jolted her higher. She flung her arms wide, forcing the currents to steady.
Before she could even line up a shot, the Juggernaut wrenched its trident back. Its icy prongs angled up, and soon it stabbed again.
Dodge left, she gritted her teeth. The wind carried her, one second away from danger again.
Her chest heaved. Her mind refused calculations. All she could hear was the pounding in her ears. Panic narrowed everything to instinct.
She needed help.
Maybe if I wink thrice with my left eye . . .
And she did.
DeShawn came back to life—[Girl, you rude asf—hell nah wtffffffffff]—the exact moment the trident speared toward her face.
Severa bent her knees, coated wind around her hands—Close Combat Wind Manipulation, Mark VI—and shoved her palms down. For one reckless heartbeat she leapfrogged the Juggernaut’s trident, skimming over its glacial prongs as the force of her own gust flung her clear.
[Girl, what you doing? What even is that giant bipedal komodo thing?]
DeShawn, we’re about to die. Please help me.
[What am I supposed to do? Do a personality reading on that walking popsicle? Ahhhhhhhh fly higher!]
The gust spat her out of reach. Severa tumbled, air roaring past her ears, her pulse slamming against her ribs. She righted herself just in time to see the Juggernaut’s trident gouge a pillar of ice where her body had been. Splinters cascaded like razors through the air, and she coughed. Not good. She brought her hand to her neck and started warming it with aetheric fire sparks.
Her throat burned. Sparks scraped her tongue. But at least she was no longer coughing.
She forced the wind to cradle her again, wings of pressure barely keeping her aloft.
[Okay, okay. Keep the popsicle in your vision. I’ll see what I can do.]
Can you read its mood?
[If it knows how to feel, yes.]
I’ll test out different weak points. You find out which one it’s the most uncomfortable parrying. Okay?
The Juggernaut stabbed again.
Severa did not dodge this time. She landed with both boots on the haft of the trident. Her neck had warmed enough. The world lurched—her stomach with it—as the weapon swung upward. For a heartbeat she was balancing on it like a tightrope, gliding as though the monster itself had thrown her into the sky.
The Juggernaut snarled, jerking the weapon to fling her off. It was almost impossible to keep balance without her hands. But her casting arsenal shrank without them.
There was one thing she could do without her hands . . .
On my mark. Gauge its emotion.
Her fingers clawed for balance, wind bracing her ankles, her teeth gritted against the bite of frost seeping through her soles. She inhaled. Cauterflare Invocation, Tier III, Rank III would be the spell she cast.
Now.
She opened her mouth and spat fire.
Comments
yosef melul
I wonder who wrote her like that
danielnewwyn
She a badass bro
