Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 9

Chapter

Nine

STRYKER

S tryker stood at the edge of the fae realm, his eyes fixed on the distant glow of Celestia. The capital shimmered beneath the eternal twilight, its gleaming spires reaching toward the heavens, a symbol of power and authority. But now, as Stryker stared at it, all he could see were the cracks beneath the surface—the corruption that rotted the Council from within. The weight of what they had uncovered in the ancient library and the enormity of the task that lay ahead was almost overwhelming.

They had to stop Lord Oberon, and they had to stop the human mage.

Behind him, the group moved quietly, the tension palpable. Lirael and Finnian exchanged whispered plans, their expressions grim. The stakes had never been higher. If they failed, the fae realm wouldn’t just be in danger—it would unravel. And yet, amid the tension, Stryker’s focus kept drifting back to Elyria.

She stood apart from the others, her gray eyes locked on Celestia’s distant glow. Her face was a stoic mask, but he could see the strain in her posture. They had fought side by side more than once, and today had been like slipping into an old rhythm— dangerous, but familiar. And now, with the heart of the fae realm looming before them, he couldn’t help but feel the pull between them.

He needed her to trust him. And he wasn’t sure she did.

“You’re quiet,” Elyria said softly, stepping up beside him. Her voice was low, almost cautious, as if she wasn’t sure where they stood.

Stryker glanced at her, his heart pounding. The closeness between them sent a surge of heat through him, but now wasn’t the time to let those feelings distract him. “Just thinking.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “Thinking about how to smuggle rebels into the heart of Celestia?”

“That, and more,” he admitted. “Oberon won’t go down easily. We’ll need more than just proof of his complicity with the mage. We’ll need to turn the right people against him.”

Elyria’s gaze sharpened. “You mean betray your old comrades?”

Stryker clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting at the thought. The High Council had been his life—his purpose—for centuries. Oberon had been more than just a ruler; he had been a mentor, a figure Stryker had once admired. But now, after everything, that admiration had soured into something bitter.

“They’ve already betrayed us,” he said quietly. “The Council has been sacrificing their people for power. Even if they don’t know for certain, they have willingly turned a blind eye. This has to end.”

Elyria watched him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “You think they’ll believe you? You think they’ll side with us?”

Stryker shook his head. “Not all of them. But there are those in the Council who’ve had their doubts, who’ve seen the cracks in Oberon’s rule. If we can get to them, we have a chance.”

She exhaled softly, her eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. “And what about us, Stryker? Are we on the same side now?”

His chest tightened at her words, the raw vulnerability beneath her question slicing through him. He turned to face her fully, his gaze locking with hers. “We’re on the same side, Elyria. I should have been with you from the beginning.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching, but before she could respond, Finnian’s voice interrupted them.

“We need to move,” he called, his tone urgent.

Stryker nodded, breaking the charged moment between them. The time for confessions would have to wait; they had a realm to save.

T he journey back to Celestia should have been fraught with danger, but Stryker’s position as a warrior for the High Council allowed them to slip past the outer defenses with minimal trouble. The real challenge lay ahead—navigating the treacherous political landscape of the Council itself.

As they entered the city, Stryker felt the familiar pulse of magic that thrummed through the streets, the gleaming crystal spires reflecting the eternal twilight in a kaleidoscope of colors. Everything looked the same—perfect, unchanging—but Stryker knew better now. The city was a facade, hiding the rot beneath.

They moved in the shadows, slipping through the hidden passages known only to those who had spent years in Celestia’s service. Stryker led them with a quiet authority, his mind racing with the plans he would need to set in motion. There were those in the Council who could be swayed—old comrades who had shown signs of doubt, mentors who had once questioned Oberon’s increasingly ruthless decisions.

But every step they took brought them closer to danger. Any wrong move, any betrayal, and they would be exposed.

As they neared the grand hall of the High Council, Stryker felt a surge of anxiety. This was it—the moment where everything could either fall apart or come together. He motioned for the group to stop and spoke, his voice low. “We’ll split up. I’ll go in alone first. I need to speak to a few people.”

Finnian frowned, clearly uneasy. “Are you setting us up?”

“No,” said Elyria. “If anything, he’s giving us time to escape if anything goes wrong.”

“I know who to talk to,” Stryker said, his gaze moving between Elyria and Finnian. “But I need you to trust me.”

Elyria studied him, her eyes searching his for a long moment before she nodded. “We do. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Stryker stifled a chuckle. She could be sarcastically inappropriate at the best and worst of times. “I’ll try not to do that.”

T he grand hall of the High Council was just as it had always been, at least on the surface—gleaming, imposing, the seat of power for the fae realm. Or had it always been as he saw it now—corrupt and disintegrating into the shadows? The feeling as he stepped inside was different. It was colder, more dangerous.

He moved through the hall, his eyes scanning the familiar faces of his comrades—fae he had fought beside, trained with, trusted. But now, with every interaction, he felt the burden of potential betrayal. He couldn’t trust any of them. Not fully.

His first stop was Lord Thaelon, an elder fae with ties to the High Council, a mentor who had always questioned Oberon’s harsher decisions. Thaelon greeted him with a warm smile, but Stryker could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

“Stryker, it’s been too long,” Thaelon said, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. “I’ve heard troubling rumors. You’ve been absent from the Council. And now you return… with what purpose?”

Stryker took a deep breath, his mind racing as he weighed his next words carefully. “I’ve discovered something—something the Council needs to know. Lord Oberon is involved with the rogue mage. He’s been using the mage’s power for his own ends, experimenting on fae.”

Thaelon’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing. “That’s a dangerous accusation.”

“It’s not an accusation,” Stryker said, his voice firm. “It’s the truth.”

Thaelon studied him for a long moment, the importance of the conversation laid bare. “You’ve always been loyal, Stryker. But loyalty can be a burden when it blinds us.”

Stryker nodded solemnly. “I have been blind too long. I’m not anymore.”

Thaelon nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing through his eyes. “Then you must tread carefully. The Council is not as it once was.”

Stryker’s heart pounded as Thaelon turned away, his words lingering like a warning. The Council was divided, more dangerous than ever. And with every step he took, the risk of betrayal grew.

The grand hall of the High Council was eerily silent as Stryker made his way deeper into the castle, his heart racing with a mix of anticipation and dread. The confrontation with Oberon loomed before him, and every step he took brought him closer to the inevitable clash. His mind spun with the possible consequences of what he was about to reveal—Oberon’s complicity in the rogue mage’s schemes, the dark secrets the Council had buried beneath centuries of deception.

As he approached the throne room, the massive doors swung open with a soft creak, revealing the imposing figure of Lord Oberon seated on his crystal throne. The hall was bathed in a pale, ethereal light, casting long shadows that writhed across the floor. The fae lords and ladies who filled the room turned to watch him, their faces masked with curiosity and suspicion.

Oberon’s golden eyes gleamed as Stryker stepped into the room, his lips curving into a cold smile. “Ah, Stryker. I was wondering when you would return.”

Stryker felt the weight of every gaze in the room on him, but he kept his eyes fixed on Oberon, his jaw tight with barely restrained anger. “I’ve done as you commanded Lord Oberon, and I returned with the truth.”

Murmurs rippled through the Council, but Oberon remained unfazed, his smile widening as he leaned forward on his throne. “The truth? And what truth might that be?”

“You’ve been working with the rogue mage,” Stryker said, his voice ringing out across the hall. “You’ve been using his magic, experimenting on fae, and hiding it from the Council.”

The murmurs grew louder, a ripple of shock and disbelief passing through the assembled fae. Oberon’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, his eyes narrowing as he rose to his feet.

“And what proof do you have of this… accusation?” Oberon asked, his voice dangerously low.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” Stryker replied, his voice steady. “I’ve spoken to the rebels, to those who have escaped your experiments. The library in the Phantom Bayou holds records of your dealings with the mage. You’re using his power to gain control of Celestia, to manipulate the fae for your own gain.”

A tense silence fell over the room, the air thick with magic and anticipation. Stryker could feel the weight of the moment, the danger of what he was revealing. But he had come too far to back down now.

Oberon’s face darkened, his expression shifting from cold amusement to something far more menacing. “You’re making a mistake, Stryker,” he said, his voice laced with barely concealed fury. “You’ve always been loyal to the Council, but now you’ve allowed your infatuation with and lust for Elyria Knightshade to cloud your judgment and your reason.”

Stryker took a step forward, shaking his head. “I’m not blind anymore, Oberon. I know what you’ve done. And I won’t stand by and let you destroy everything I’ve fought for.”

Oberon’s eyes flashed with anger, and in an instant, the room exploded with magic. Dark tendrils of energy lashed out from Oberon’s hands, swirling through the air and crashing into Stryker with a force that sent him staggering back. From the end of the hall, the doors flew open and the rebels entered, brandishing both their weapons and their magic. Before Oberon could attack Stryker again, it was Elyria’s magic that formed a shield in front of him. The walls of the chamber trembled, the floor beneath them cracking as the power of their magic collided.

Stryker barely had time to regain his footing and shift before another wave of magic slammed into the barrier Elyria had constructed before him, sending shards of crystal flying through the air. He lifted off. He wouldn’t be able to stop Oberon from behind Elyria’s shield, and she knew better. Oberon held off Elyria and still managed to send a blast of magic through Stryker, the force of it reverberating through his body.

“Oberon, stop this!” one of the fae lords shouted, his voice lost in the chaos.

But Oberon didn’t stop. His face twisted with fury as he unleashed a torrent of dark magic, the true extent of his power laid bare for the Council to see. The walls of the throne room shook, the very foundation of the castle trembling beneath the onslaught.

Stryker fought back with everything he had, as did the rebels—magic flaring brighter and stronger than ever as they met Oberon’s attacks head-on. Stryker tried to get around the magic to get to Oberon to bring him down, but the fae leader refused to yield or be beaten.

He knew they had to win—even though most of the High Council had retreated to the sidelines to observe. But this was bigger than them, bigger than any of them. This was about the future of Celestia.

As the battle raged on, Stryker’s vision blurred, the edges of his consciousness fraying as the magic around him twisted and pulsed. And then, in the midst of the chaos, something shifted—something dark and terrible, hidden deep within the magic.

A memory.

Stryker froze, his heart pounding in his chest as a flood of images surged through his mind—images of experiments, of fae bound by dark magic, their power drained, their bodies twisted into something unrecognizable. And then, he saw himself.

Not just as a warrior of the Council, but as a part of it. He fell from the sky, looking down at his hands as he shifted and hit the floor. His hands were there, covered in blood and magic, his face reflected in the twisted expressions of those fae he had once thought to protect. Oberon’s voice echoed in his ears, smooth and commanding, guiding him, shaping him into the weapon he had become.

The truth hit him with the impact of a rogue wave. He hadn’t just been a loyal soldier. He had been complicit in Oberon’s schemes, part of the High Council’s darkest secrets. His own power had been used to suppress the very fae he had sworn to defend.

“No…” Stryker whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of magic around him. His heart twisted in his chest, the weight of his past crushing him.

But Oberon’s laughter cut through the chaos, cold and triumphant. “Now you see, Stryker. You were always a part of this. You were never more than a tool—a weapon in my hands.”

Stryker staggered to his feet, his mind reeling from the revelation. His entire life, everything he had fought for, had been a lie. He had been used, manipulated, shaped into something he didn’t recognize.

The battle raged on around him, but in that moment, Stryker felt hollow. Everything he had believed in, everything he had trusted, had been shattered.

“Stryker!” Elyria’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.

He turned to see her fighting her way toward him, her gray eyes blazing. She fought with all the ferocity she had ever possessed. They had not diminished her—nothing had. Her magic flared bright and wild. And in that moment, Stryker knew one thing for certain.

He couldn’t let Oberon win. Not like this.

With a roar, Stryker surged forward, shifting again as his griffon form burst to life and he launched himself at Oberon, their powers colliding in a brilliant explosion of light and darkness. The walls of the throne room crumbled, the floor beneath them cracking as the force of the battle tore through the castle.

Realizing he couldn’t win, Oberon evaporated into swirling mist and disappeared through a hidden exit from the throne room. Stryker let him go. Oberon was finished. Oh, they’d need to track him down and have him stripped of his magic, but without allies, he couldn’t get far. Stryker realized he was no longer a warrior for the Council or for Oberon. He now fought for Elyria, for the fae, for the future he wanted to build—one free of the darkness that had consumed him.

As the battle raged around them, Stryker made a vow: they would tear down Oberon’s power and the Council’s complicity even if it meant destroying everything he had ever known.