Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 50

Euodia:

Eris stands tall and imposing, like a dragon who has just claimed his hoard. He exhales deeply, and a thin stream of smoke escapes his lips. His eyes burn brighter than before, the magic now coursing through him.

Feyre lies on the ground, Rhysand and Amren bent over her, their faces masks of worry and fury. Rhysand's hand hovers protectively over her, his power thrumming in the air. Amren's silver eyes narrow as she glares at Eris, who simply stands there, a smirk playing on his lips as he revels in his regained power.

The air is thick with tension and the smell of smoke, a stark reminder of the power struggle we have just witnessed. The guards remain at the ready, their expressions a mix of awe and wariness. The Autumn Court's throne room, once a place of serene beauty, now feels like the heart of a volcano, with Eris at its molten core.

"How dare you." Rhysand's voice is cold and deprived of anything remotely human. It sounds much more like a being from a nightmare. He rises from Feyre lying on the floor and turns around towards Eris, his eyes blazing with an unholy light.

Like a shockwave, his magic erupts into the space between him and Eris. Rhysand's power, usually a beautiful and starry night sky, is now dark blue and black in hues, as if his emotional state has tainted its appearance. The darkness roils and churns, filled with the raw fury and pain that Rhysand feels.

Eris is quick to respond. Without much more than a flicker of his hand, a matching level of his own magic bursts forth, meeting Rhysand's power head-on. The pure, intense fire of blue surges out from him, clashing with Rhysand's starless night.

The room is suddenly filled with a dazzling display of light and shadow as the two High Lords lock their magic in a fierce battle. The flames of Eris's power roar and snap, curling around the darkness of Rhysand's night sky, each trying to consume the other. The air vibrates with the force of their combined power, and the temperature in the room skyrockets.

Azriel's shadows swirl around him protectively, reacting to the volatile clash of magic. Besides him, Amren's eyes gleam with ancient power, and her lips curl back in a snarl as she watches the confrontation unfold.

The guards of the Autumn Court shift uneasily, their hands tightening on their weapons, but none dare to move. The sheer intensity of the power being displayed is enough to make even the bravest warrior hesitate.

As the two High Lords continue to clash, the very foundations of the throne room seem to tremble. The beautiful intertwining of wood and stone quivers under the strain, the delicate balance of nature and magic pushed to its limits. The tree trunks that form the pillars of the room groan, and leaves shake loose, fluttering down like a cascade of embers in the magical storm.

Eris's flames grow hotter, more intense, a searing blue that threatens to scorch everything in its path. His eyes blaze with a cruel delight, the flames reflecting the fiery ambition and pride that fuel him. His smirk never falters, even as he pours more power into the battle, his stance relaxed yet formidable.

Rhysand, in contrast, is a figure of unyielding darkness. His night sky magic pulses with wrath, the stars within it now obscured by storm clouds of anger and grief. His face is a mask of cold determination, his jaw set as he pushes back against Eris's fire with all the might of his being.

Feyre stirs on the ground, groaning as she tries to push herself up. Rhysand's attention flickers to her for the briefest moment, concern flashing in his eyes, but he does not relent in his magical assault. He knows that he must protect her, must end this threat that Eris poses, once and for all.

The clash continues, a brutal, beautiful dance of power and will. The room is filled with the sounds of crackling fire and the deep, resonant hum of Rhysand's magic. The very air feels charged, electric with the raw energy being unleashed.