Orange and red flames roar around me, devouring rooftops, licking toward the sky in jagged fingers. Smoke coils upward, thick and dark, blotting out the stars.
A scream splits the night—raw, piercing. Then—a deep, gutturalrumblebehind me.
I spin just in time to see one of the village homes cave inward. A beat later, the thatched roof erupts into flame—fire leaping high, wild and ravenous, devouring everything it touches.
The blaze throws jagged light across the street, painting the shadows in sharp, frantic motion.
Can the Fellborn wield fire?!
My heart stutters. My gaze locks on the flames—sharp and steady, rising fast.
No . . . no, that had to be something else. A hearth. A beam. Anything.
I want to believe that.
Ihaveto.
My village is burning. The only world I’ve ever known, cracking apart in fire and fear.
And still . . . no Lyra.
I have to find her.
All around me, flashes of lesser magics bloom and vanish: a tremor ripples through the dirt; thin vines snap upward from the soil, snaring a shadowy limb; a trembling barrier of stone rises just in time to shield a doorway.
I almost laugh, a strangled, breathless sound. We’re Earth Clan folk, for gods’ sake. Our gifts are meant for coaxing gardens to flourish, for smoothing a rocky field—not for battle.
Wefeedthe realm. We don’tprotectit.
And yet, my people are pushing beyond everything we believed we could do. Driven by fear and desperation to save our families, their magics are stretching to their limits.
My neighbors shape raw earth into weapons—small and crude. Shields formed from stone and will. I see others Dustcalling, stirring loose dirt into the air, trying to create cover against the Fellborn. Some fling soil and rock like it’s all they have left—because it is.
And I can’t decide what’s more shocking: That we’re actually managing to hold them off . . . or that even with everything we’ve given—it still isn’t enough.
These Fellborn . . . they belong to the dark places—to the stories whispered in far-off cities. Notherein Liora. We’re days from anywhere that matters.
“Lyra!” I scream, finally spotting her a few feet away.
She’s frozen, wide-eyed, staring at a massive silhouette standing motionless in the middle of the main thoroughfare. A beast made of smoke and nightmare.
“Lyra, are you hurt? Did you find Revan and his family?”
I grab her shoulders. She’s trembling.
“My father’s helping them get to the woods.” Her voice breaks. “I don’t understand. They’re everywhere. They’reattacking everyone.”
I turn.
She’s right.
The Fellborn are multiplying.
Lyra drops to one knee, pressing her palm to the dirt. Roots snap upward, binding a creature’s limbs, pinning it for a heartbeat before it slices free.
She curses under her breath, tears streaking her soot-covered cheeks.
“My magics are not strong enough,” she chokes out.
