The battlefield is worse than I imagined from the front line.
A slaughterhouse stretches across the mud-churned ground. Bodies lie at angles that make my stomach revolt. Some in gold, a handful in leather, all of them filthy with mud as people climb over them. None that I recognize.
Luminth arcs through the air in bright ribbons, pure light sculpted into spears and scythes and walls that shatter under impact. I steal a glance at the line I left, to where that dark, unending shield of darkness keeps them safe as Kaelen pushes his way through the lines. Others break free, launching themselves at Lightbringer soldiers with whips and lines of erevas that carve more golden figures away.
Still alive.
I mimic Lightbringer posture. I let my shoulders square. I keep my head high. When I pass groups of gold-armored soldiers, I don’t flinch. I don’t look at them too long.
I don’t run unless I have to, my stride determined as if I’m following orders.
And slowly, I make my way across the battlefield, toward the mounted group that watches the carnage from a distance.
A line of Lightbringers surges past, shouting, their voices sharp with the righteousness my father taught them. One bumps my shoulder. I stagger, catch myself, and nod like I’m another soldier joining the crush.
“Push them back!” someone yells. “Drive them to the shadows and pen them in! Get around!”
I can’t stop. Ican’t.
I keep moving, threading through the chaos.
My pace quickens. My breath fogs inside the helm, dampening my skin. A Lightbringer collapses in front of me, gold armor dented inward as if punched by a giant fist. A single, separated Darkwielder, leather torn and eyes wild, stumbles away from him, erevas bleeding from their hands. The Lightbringer’s visor is cracked, and through it I see an eye staring blankly.
I swallow bile and step around him.
My step falters.
I force myself to keep going. If I stop, I die. If I stop, all the lives already lost become a list I’ll need to add every single Darkwielder name to.
So I don’t stop.
Slipping behind a fallen banner pole, I crouch to catch my breath, letting a wave of soldiers rush past. Lifting my palms inside the gauntlets, I feel the familiar heat gathering there. Coiled and ready.
The closer I get to the center, the more the battlefield bends around a single presence. Lightbringers move with purpose,forming protective arcs of light that push back any aerial assault from those who can launch their erevas this far.
And then I see him.
He’s dismounted his horse. My father stands on a raised mound of churned earth, cloak whipping behind him. His helmet is off. His hair, the same pale gold shade as mine, is pulled back tight.
And he’s preparing to join the fight, his face turned toward Kaelen’s shield. Luminth pours from his palms in streaming sheets of gold, shaping into massive spears. His face doesn’t change with his movements. Each one is calm and precise, and my anger surges in my chest.
Around him, Lightbringers rally, golden armor orbiting him like he’s the sun.
Hubris.He’s filled with it, just like Aedryn in the origin tale that Darian told me.
My vision blurs, my throat tightening until I can barely breathe.
And I step forward.
A Lightbringer to my right turns, sees the armor, and nods at me without question. “Move up!” he shouts. “Commander needs the flank covered!”
I nod back like I belong, and I keep walking.
Each step toward my father feels like stepping into a memory. Training yards. The crack of a blade against my ribs. The sting of winter air as he made me run until I vomited.
Again. Faster. Harder.
And the pain. So much pain that I could drown in it unless I focus. He taught me how to do that too.
