Something sharp twisted in her chest. Her voice cracked. “What have they done to her?”
Nik’s jaw tightened, every muscle coiled with barely restrained fury. Seeing Katell in such a state—used as a weapon—hit him as sharply as it did Alena. “We’ll get her back,” he growled, “but not by charging in blindly. I swear… they’ll pay for what they’ve done.”
“He’s right,” Leukos said from behind, voice almost lost in the gusting wind. “Don’t forget our plan.”
His warm hand closed over hers, his thumb tracing slow, reassuring circles across her palm. It helped. Almost.
Until a wet, gargled scream ripped through the air, shattering the moment.
Across the river, Dalmatius slit the Western scout’s throat in one brutal motion. Blood sprayed, and the legate seized the dying man by the jaw, holding him upright like a grotesque trophy.
“Twelve be damned,” Nik muttered.
Dalmatius smeared blood across Katell’s cheeks with ceremonial precision. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered something, then he smiled, aware they were all watching.
Alena’s blood boiled, nails digging into her palms. How dare he touch Katell as if she were some tool to wield? Alena didn’t care what power he held, or what flames he commanded—she would drag him off her sister with her bare hands if she had to.
A rumble unfurled through the clouds, the first beat of a war drum echoing from the sky—a warning from Taranis himself.
Wordless, unblinking, Katell stepped to the river’s edge. The Rodanos responded at once—its surface shuddering, rippling outwards in violent rings as if recoiling from her touch. The once-gentle current began to churn, froth rising with an unnatural hiss.
Behind Alena, a jagged wail tore through the air—raw and metallic. She flinched as the Western carnyx screamed again, the curling war horns shaped like open-mouthed beasts howling across the valley. The echo bounced off the cliffside and surged over the river, a curse in motion.
The Rasennans answered in turn.
From deep within the shadowed forest, horns bellowed and war drums pounded in answer—slow, thunderous beats that made the earth feel unsteady beneath her boots. Soldiers in tight formation spilled from the trees, shields raised, blades gleaming. Rows of archers stepped into place behind them, bows half drawn.
But they held steady, keeping their distance from Katell and the riverbank, where the water churned and frothed in warning.
Darkness bloomed at Katell’s feet—thick magic coiling around her legs in swirling tendrils of smoke. Without hesitation, she pulled a dagger free and cut into her palm.
Blood dripped to the earth, and from that tainted soil, they came.
Two shapes rose—tall, faceless, cloaked in layers of black billowing in the wind. Not shadows or ghosts.
But demons.
The Makhai.
Horror swelled in Alena’s chest. She couldn’t move. Her fingers gripped her sword, but it felt laughably small, as useful as a twig against a storm.
Beside her, Nik let out a sharp breath, his usual bravado gone. “The Giver’s tits, she’s summoned two of them.”
Leukos said nothing. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword, and the air suddenly grew colder when he reached for his magic.
Katell stepped into the water, and the Rodanos River rebelled.
A shiver ran down Alena’s spine. The battlefield had just changed. And no amount of planning could prepare them for what had been unleashed.
A deep rumble shook the ground beneath them, a low growl emanating from the riverbed. The water churned violently, then burst forth. A geyser of white spray soared skywards, twisting and forming limbs within its torrent.
The surge solidified into a colossal figure—a god fashioned from river and fury. Broad and crowned with reeds, its body flowed with silt and shimmering currents, eyes churning whirlpools of ancient power.
Alena gasped. The wolves let out low, uneasy whines.
“Get back!” Leukos seized her arm, yanking her away as Nik flashed into motion, retreating in a blur.
With a sound like mountains splitting, the river god loosed a thunderous cry and struck. A massive wall of water crashed down on the riverbank, sweeping towards the Rasennan line like a living tide. Soldiers screamed and scrambled, some dragged into the water by invisible hands, others simply gone in a blink beneath the waves.
