I glimpse Arax as he collects Legion lives, his sword swinging in wide arcs, cutting down anyone in his path, his battle cry a guttural roar that sends chills down my spine. He fights with the rage of a man with nothing left to lose, his movements almost primal, and yet, even he is beginning to tire. I see him stagger, just for a moment, as another wave of Legion soldiers presses forward, and my stomach lurches with fear.
Zyphoro vanishes into the void once again, appearing in the midst of a group of Legion commanders, her smoke tendrils wrapping around their throats before she drags them to their knees. But even she cannot stop the endless tide of men. Her lips curl into a snarl as she slashes at them, her face splattered with blood, and still they keep coming.
I rush to another fallen warrior, my hands trembling as I press them to his wound, desperate to keep him alive. But I’m too late. His eyes, once filled with the spark of life, now stare blankly at the sky. I choke back a sob, pulling away as another soldier falls beside me, blood pouring from his mouth. I try to heal him, but the sheer number of the dying and wounded is too much.
“They’re too many,” I gasp, my voice cracking.
Suddenly an explosion of arrows rains down from above, and I scream as one grazes my arm, the sharp pain tearing through me. The world spins, but I fight to stay standing, to keep moving. Blood drips from the wound, warm and thick, but something else stirs inside me. I grip my rune necklace, feeling it pulse beneath my fingertips.
It’s as if the very earth hums in response to my pain. My veins throb with new life, a rush of energy coursing through me,stronger than before. I can almost taste it, the bitterness of the arrow’s cut transforming into power. A power I can use.
I look out onto the battlefield, the chaos consuming everything around me.
So much cruelty. So much death.
A warrior of The Grove stumbles, barely able to hold his sword, his face pale, his movements labored. A Legion soldier raises his blade to strike him down, but before I can think, before I can even cry out, the energy inside me snaps free.
A bolt of green lightning surges from my hand. It hits the soldier square in the chest, sending him flying back into a mass of his brethren, their armor clattering in the wake of the blast.
I press my hand to the wound on my arm, the blood flowing faster now, and I feel it—the power building, gathering, waiting for release. With a growl, I use it, my body trembling as another arrow strikes me in the leg. Instead of buckling, I channel it, using the searing pain as fuel. My vision blurs, but through it, I see everything with a clarity that terrifies me. The earth hums beneath me, alive, begging to be unleashed.
My veins pulse, the green light threading through my skin, snaking up my arms, my legs, my throat. I feel my hair lift, weightless in the air, carried by the surge of power that grows with every heartbeat. I stumble for a moment, my body fighting to contain the raw energy surging through me, but I give in, letting it take over.
I drive my fingers into the soil. The earth responds in kind, trembling beneath me as the green veins in my skin expand, my eyes glowing brighter, burning with the same furious energy. My breath comes in ragged bursts, each one carrying more power, more fury. I can feel the forest answering my call.
An army of creatures—wild, frenzied, their eyes glowing with the same green fire that burns within me. Wolves, bears, boars, stags. They charge forward, their roars deafening, and theLegion falters for a moment, confusion and fear rippling through their ranks.
The animals descend upon them, tearing through armor, trampling soldiers beneath their paws and hooves. The chaos intensifies, the battlefield erupting into a storm of violence as the creatures of the forest unleash their fury. I push my hands deeper into the soil, finding more beneath the surface, sleeping giants waiting to wake. With a loud crack, the boulders at the mouth of the forest transform, the stone creaking and groaning until they become massive rock golems dotted with moss, and when they join the battle, picking up men and crushing them to a bloody pulp, the Legion start to flee.
I scream again, but this time it’s not from pain. It’s from the sheer power that rips through me. My hands press deeper into the ground, and the earth obeys my command. Vines twist from beneath the soil, snaring Legion soldiers by their legs, dragging them down, crushing them in their grip. I can hear their screams, but the sound barely registers over the wild beating of my heart.
The power is consuming me, threading deeper into my skin, into my bones. My entire body pulses with the green glow, my vision blurring as the energy inside me grows, relentless and uncontrollable. I should be afraid, but I’m not.
I bury my hands deeper into the earth, the power overtaking every rational thought. The forest is alive with the spirits of the Souls, and I’m their vessel, their weapon.
The creatures fight with a madness I’ve never seen, tearing through the Legion’s forces as if driven by the same unrelenting force that consumes me. Blood splatters the ground, the air thick with the scent of iron and death. And still, I push the power further, deeper, my hands trembling as I channel it all.
But the more I give, the more it takes.
A sharp pain lances through me, but I don't stop. I can’t. The forest, the Grove, all of it—depends onme.
The green light pulses around me, wrapping me in its grip, pulling me deeper into the earth’s fury. But even as I fight, even as I hold the Legion at bay with everything I have, I know I’m losing myself. The pain I’ve drawn on burns through me, a fire I can’t control.
I am the forest. I am the fury of the earth. And I will not stop until the Legion is buried beneath my feet.
The Grove has the advantage, the tide of the battle shifting as Legion soldiers falter. They retreat, stumbling back from the onslaught of the forest’s creatures and the relentless force of the Fae and Grove warriors. The air is thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and dirt. Victory feels so close, I can taste it—within reach, a breath away.
But then, like a beam of righteous light tearing through the darkness, he appears.
The Golden Son charges toward me, a blur of gilded fury. Before I can react, his boot slams into my face, sending me sprawling backward. The sudden shock breaks my concentration, the power I’ve been channeling from the earth flickering and sputtering as I hit the ground hard. My vision blurs, stars exploding in the corners of my eyes as pain radiates from my skull.
He dismounts and looms over me, his golden mask glinting in the sunlight, the brilliance of his eyes cold and piercing beneath it. I try to reach for my power again, but I’m too weak, my connection to the earth severed by his brutal strike.
“You fight well, for a traitor,” he sneers, his voice low and venomous, dripping with contempt. His blade gleams as he presses it against my throat, the sharp edge biting into my skin just enough to draw blood. “But this is where your story ends, Amara of The Grove.”
My limbs feel heavy, useless as I struggle to lift my hands, to fight him off, but my strength is draining fast. I grit my teeth, the fury burning in my chest, but I can’t move, pinned beneath the weight of his blade, the taste of dirt and blood on my tongue.
Just as I’m about to give in to the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, a shout pierces through the haze.
