One hundred and eighty-six Darkwielders stand in a line, spread across the ground in a shallow arc facing the flood of gold.
Just us.
I look down the row, picking out individual faces. Sera. Valcor stands on one side, and Elspeth on the other. Nythen, a few heads down from them. His shadows writhe around his body, stretching out far beyond anybody else’s in the line, and I have to look away.
There are no units here. Those who fight stand beside their family, their friends. Further down, I see Weslyn, his face stark and pale as he grips a sword in shaking hands.
The wind changes. It carries the metallic scent of the army closer.
I look again at my father. There was a time that I would have given anything to be the one at his side. To wear golden, gleaming armor and his crest over my heart, believing that the people I now stand beside were nothing more than an evil that could be eradicated like rot.
Now, he would kill me on sight for daring to stand here with them.
Kaelen murmurs to Darian, and I look over as they exchange places. Kaelen’s hand brushes the back of mine, a question and an anchor all at once. When I glance at him, his eyes flick tomy face before moving away, scanning the field with dark-lidded eyes. Planning.
My enemy. All three of them, these men who found me and built me into someone more than a nameless, faceless Lightbringer.
Our line shifts. I hear the faint whisper of steel as weapons are pulled out, pointed and ready by those who don’t have the erevas to use for fighting. The icy air sweeps into my lungs when I breathe in, and for once I embrace it. “Stay close?”
“Until the end.” Eres’s hand finds mine again. This time, he doesn’t let go. Darian and Kaelen repeat the words like a prayer, and I do the same.
Until the end.
I want to turn. I want to press my forehead to each of theirs. I want to kiss Darian like I might never taste him again, to cup Eres’s face in my hands and memorize the softness there, to let Kaelen drag me into his arms and let me hide my face from what’s to come.
Instead, I breathe.
Until the end.
Across the field, the Lightbringers slow. Their front ranks spread into formation with flawless, practiced precision. The gold becomes less like a river, and more like a net being cast. Banners rise up, the three-line crest repeating itself until it feels as though my vision is branded with it.
A horn sounds, the echo spreading across the ranks as they fall still. Our line does the same.
Waiting.
My father lifts his arm.
The gesture is small from this distance, but I know it. I know every fraction of it, every angle. It’s the same he used when I was a child. He would point out targets across the training grounds, his voice calm as he taught me how to kill.
His arm falls.
And the Lightbringers surge.
Kaelen
Our line remains steady. “Hold!”
My bellow carries through, nobody changing position as a sea of gold bears down upon us, closing the distance. Turning, I glance over my shoulder. My heartbeat thuds inside my chest as I brace to intercede.
If this doesn’t work, this will be over quickly.
Queen Maelira of Umbraxis stands alone on the rampart, high above our heads as she looks out toward the thousands that are converging on us, getting closer with every moment that passes. My mother looks tiny against the backdrop of Umbraxis. Impossibly small. A single, dark speck against a racing tide of anger and hatred.
She raises her hands.
I can’t sense erevas. Very few can. But the hair on the back of my neck prickles, nonetheless, as I turn to look.
“Kaelen,” Darian breathes.
