He could see the shadows already gathering as he dove through the Snow Gates, pulled up, and pushed onwards, upwards and into the sky again.
He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t see beyond his own damned tears.
You cannot fail.
You must not fail.
He saw her when he was halfway across the Expanse. The Sawteeth closed in, and her eagle wasalone,and for all the magic Soraya had, all the power of the wind she’d been given...
She couldn’t take on the Acolyte alone.
What is she doing?his mind screamed.Why now, why this?
“Wait!” he screamed.
And it felt like the gods were pushing at his back, helping him get there faster, faster, for it was impossible, that he’d have been able to catch up to her eagle like this. She was always faster than Cyrra. Buthe could see the strands of her dark hair now. He could sense that maybe, just maybe...she’d waited for him, hoping he would come after her. That he’d appear at her side, as he always did, and she would fall into place behind him, and gohome.
Home, where the gods kept them safe.
Home, where he could spend his days with her, where he couldloveher, even if it was from afar. As a friend that would never become something more.
It was better that way.
He felt like he died inside when darkness suddenly fell. When a terrible, roilingcracksounded from the Sawteeth, and that veil of living shadows, that horrible, infernal storm...
It struck.
And from the Sawteeth came the darksouls.
They were close enough that Soraya, alone on her eagle, didn’t even see it when one attacked. A blast of shadow magic soared from its claws, and Soraya’s eaglescreamed.
He felt it in his own chest as she dipped.
And went, tumbling in a clump of feathers, to the Expanse below.
He couldn’t catch her in time.
There was nothing he could do, nothing he could conjure up to stop her fall, becauseshewas the one with wind magic, and he was nothing but useless godsdamnedflames.
So why wasn’t she breaking her own fall?
She could have conjured something up, a blast of wind, the righteouspowerthat had emanated from her hands in the war, just yesterday.
But Soraya did nothing.
She crashed against the snow, so hard, it looked like a wave of white swallowed her.
Her eagle was dead on impact, and Soraya...
Arawn landed, screaming her name.
He didn’t give a damn about the war, about the darksouls that were already pouring from the Sawteeth, a spiral of shadows and wings, because the Sacred had arrived behind him. They clashed in the sky, setting the world alight as Arawn leapt from Cyrra’s back before she even landed in the snow.
And then he was running to her.
“SORAYA!”
She was there, covered in blood, her legs twisted at an awkward angle, and if she was dead, ohgods,if she was dead...he swore to Vivorr that he wouldneveruse his magic again.
