I trust my father. Always have. There’s steel in him, buried beneath the quiet way he tills the earth or hums when Mother sings in the kitchen. He wasn’t always a farmer.
Now, that other part of him—sharpened, disciplined—cracks through the surface like stone split by pressure. The old warrior steps forward.
He looks at my mother, then me, then the Durnharts.
“We stay together,” he says, scanning the rooftops, as shrieks echo down the street. “If we’re discovered, if theyseeus, we run. Understand?”
I nod, throat tight. My mother presses a hand to my back—trying to steady both of us. The Durnharts nod. We move in silence.
Lyra’s scream slices the night. “Revan! We didn’t warn his family—we have to go back!”
She bolts before anyone can stop her.
“Lyra!” Tamsen cries, panic cracking her voice. But she’s already gone—swallowed by smoke and darkness.
Galen doesn’t hesitate, charging after her.
My mother grabs my arm but I break free.
I don’t think. I run.
But not away.
Toward Revan. Toward Lyra. Toward the fire.
The world unravels around me—homes collapsing, villagers screaming, shadows slithering through the smoke like claws in ink.
That familiar something stirs within me; that thread pulling taut. And a voice I don’t recognize shouting: Go!
I push faster, lungs burning, throat raw from smoke. When I reach the corner—they’re gone.
“Lyra!” I shout. “Galen!”
No answer, just the sound of something tearing. Shapes flicker at the edges of my vision—the night is alive with fire and panic.
I spin, disoriented. My ears ring and legs shake. There’s too much smoke. Too much noise. Too many people running.
And not enough escaping.
Then— “Amara!” My mother’s voice, faint behind me, desperate.
“Amara, wait!” My father, calling through the chaos.
But I can’t stop. Iwon’t. Lyra, Galen, and Revan are out there somewhere.
I take a step forward—something massive crashes to theground. A house buckles inward, flames bursting from the roof as one of the Fellborn hurls a villager like a rag doll.
I flinch, ducking into the shadows beside a broken fence. My breath stutters.
Screams echo down the lanes. Whispers twist through the smoke. Wood splinters. Stone shatters.
I swallow hard, my pulse a steady roar in my ears.
What should I do? Where did they go?
I grip the fence rail, grounding myself. Smoke curls past, thick and sour. I press a hand over my mouth.
A too-close whisper. The shadows are shifting again. I need to move fast.
