Then they collide.
Flame. Claws. Teeth. They rip into each other like war itself, made flesh. Massive bodies slamming, jaws snapping at throats, wings shredding the air. Every impact shakes the ground beneath me.
The black-eyed one is faster, meaner—striking low, aiming for joints, eyes, under-scales. It gets the upper hand more than once, raking deep into the orange dragon’s side.
But the orange one, god, it’s power. Pure, overwhelming force. Every hit it lands cracks like thunder. Every roar shakes my bones.
They’re distracted. This is my chance.
I scan the battlefield—Rowan’s closer. Barely breathing. Blood pooling fast beneath him. Ezzy’s further, but alive—dragging herself forward, one hand clamped to her thigh, jaw locked against the pain. Still fighting.
I can only get to one of them.
Promise me something. If you ever have to choose between me and her... choose her.
The memory of Rowan’s voice hits like a truth I never wanted to face.
I promised him. God, I promisedhim.
My chest cracks open. I don’t move. I can’t breathe. This isn’t a choice—it’s a fucking execution. But I have no time.
So I run.
Toward Ezzy. Toward the one he made me promise to save. And it feels like my heart is being torn out of my chest as I go.
Behind me, the ground shakes—dragons still locked in battle. Claws screech across the dry ground, flames carving through the night sky. Smoke and sulphur burn the back of my throat. Then—a sound, wet and visceral.
Panting hard, I keep running but glance back just in time to see it: the dark orange dragon has the black-eyed one pinned by the throat. A twist. Another crack. Blood pours—dark, steaming—just as the black-eyed dragon goes limp. Dead.
I skid to a stop beside Ezzy, dropping to a crouch just as the orange dragon lifts its head. It turns—golden eyes locking on to mine.
My hand clamps around her, tight, and for a heartbeat, I think it’s going to finish us too.
It takes one step forward, exhales a low, guttural sound, then pressure slams into us as it launches upward—wings beating hard, rising into the night sky. Higher and higher, until it’s nothing but a shadow etched against the moon.
Silence, gone.
Ash still swirls in the air. Heat still rolls off the ground. But all I hear now are our breaths—mine and Ezzy’s—shaking, shallow, scraping through raw lungs. Every nerve screaming. But I have to move. Because across from us, Rowan isn’t.
Pain flares through my shoulder as I shove up, staggering toward him until a hand clamps down on my arm. Hard, holding me back. I spin, trying to tear myself free, but it’s a Citadel officer and behind him more shadows cut through the smoke—an entire patrol spilling in. Lucien at the front.
“Let me go!” I scream, thrashing in the officer’s grip. “Let me go, I need to get to him!” My Threads lash out, but Lucien’s are faster. His strike hits like a hammer. Magic slamming into my chest, knocking me clean off my feet.
The ground rushes up, punching air from my lungs. Lucien doesn't stop; he just strides past me. Straight toward Rowan.
“Please, please let me go to him—” Ezzy’s voice cracks behind me. She’s fighting her own officer, while half limping, half dragging herself forward.
Up ahead, Lucien drops to a crouch beside Rowan’s body. Checks for a pulse, then grabs the front of his jacket and hauls him upright like dead weight.
Rowan doesn’t protest, but his eyes slide open. Fingers twitch at his side, just once, a whisper of life. My heart kicks hard, he’s still there, still fighting.
And then his gaze finds mine. Not panic, just pain, and something else.
Lucien watches him for one heartbeat too, then moves. No hesitation. No mercy. Just purpose, pulling a blade from his belt.
“No!” The word rips from my throat. “No, no, he’s still breathing! I can help, I can?—”
My magic surges. Hot. Violent. It lashes out, slamming the officer holding me off his feet. I break free and run.
