“I know,” I whispered. “Go.”
His jaw clenched tight while I watched an internal war raging between his instinct and his duty. But this was why we’d come, to find the monster and take back its venom for Nevara. Without it, without her…
Draven nodded, having heard every unspoken thought through our bond. He turned and launched himself back into the fray, frost exploding beneath his feet as he tore across the clearing.
I stumbled toward the young fae that Kaelen was having a much harder time leaving behind.
He swallowed, glancing up from her small form to meet my eyes.
“My sister,” he said.
Of course she was. Now that we were closer, I could see it. The same warmth in their golden eyes, the same deep gray shade to their wings with flecks of silver in them.
I nodded, kneeling down to wrap my arms around her.
“I’ll take care of her,” I promised. “Help them.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened, the smallest tremor betraying how badly he didn’t want to leave her. He bent and murmuredsomething against his sister’s hair—too soft for me to hear—before gently prying her fingers from his forearm.
Keira didn’t cry. She didn’t reach for him again. She only straightened her spine and gave one sharp nod, the kind she must have seen the older warriors give before battle. Her wings twitched once, betraying pain she refused to voice.
But when Kaelen launched into the sky, she swayed against me—not collapsing, but bracing, teeth clenched as she forced herself to stay upright.
Dark blood seeped through the torn fabric at her thigh where the broken branch had pierced deep. The sight made her jaw lock even harder, her breath uneven but held tight between her teeth.
I knelt beside her, using my dagger to cut a strip from my cloak before pressing it firmly over the wound. She hissed through her teeth but didn’t pull away, her fingers digging into the snow to keep from trembling.
“It’s fine,” she said through a stiff breath, though she winced. “I can fight if I have to.”
The lie was obvious.
The determination was real.
I tightened the fabric around her leg. “Maybe you can,” I said softly, meeting her eyes. “But knowing when you shouldn’t fight is part of being a warrior too.”
She stared at me, unblinking.
“Someone wise once told me that there is bravery, and there is common sense,” I said pointedly, recalling my sister’s words.
“Bravery isn’t always about charging headfirst into a battle you can’t win. Not every battle is meant for us,” I said, acutely aware of how hypocritical I sounded. “Not every fire needs us to walk through it. Sometimes the real strength lies in choosing not to burn.”
Keira swallowed once, then gave a shallow, resolute dip of her chin. It wasn’t surrender. It was acceptance—the kind that cost her more than she’d ever admit.
Before I could say anything else, the sound of the fight crashed back over us in a brutal wave.
Screams. Shattering ice. The snap and crack of mana rupturing the air. Unseelie steel scraping against chitinous armor. And above it all, the Korythid’s keening hiss as it lunged at the warriors trying to pin it down from the sky.
The chaos was everywhere. Wild and overwhelming.
And then, slowly… painfully… it began to take shape.
Not calm, not control, but something like strategy forming in the storm. Draven’s voice cut through the storm as he shouted orders on where and how to strike best.
They moved like a single organism—wings snapping open as they dodged, twisting midair with impossible agility, their serrated blades slipping into the narrow gaps between the Korythid’s armored plates with terrifying precision.
Every strike was deliberate. Every impact purposeful until black, inky blood arced through the air, spattering over snow and skin alike, hissing wherever it landed.
But the Korythid refused to slow down.
