Air sustains the traveler’s fate.”
He lifts his hand. The air tears open—violet energy swirling outward, warping the space around us. A portal. Rippling like a wound torn through reality.
“It will hold for ten minutes, Thane. That’s all the time we have to get her and get out.”
I give him a tight nod then glance at Rian, my friend, my brother. His eyes are tight, wary. I know he worries about me. I offer him a smile to reassure him, but his expression doesn’t change. I face the portal, ready to find the answer to end of this bloody conflict.
Valen and I step through.
Bracing for war. Bracing forher.
The moment we step through the portal, the familiar scent of fire and blood slams into me. I was forged in the fires of war—raised in blood and battle.
Smoke curls through the air, thick and suffocating, clinging to the charred remains of what was once a village. The buildings—or what’s left of them—stand as blackened husks, the skeletons of homes that couldn’t withstand the onslaught. The bodies—villagers and shadow creatures alike—litter the ground in a brutal display of devastation. Some were cut down, others burned.
Valen steps up beside me, gripping his staff, his gray-streaked hair catching the dim firelight. He sweeps his gaze over the wreckage, his expression unreadable.
“This is where the surge came from,” he murmurs. “She’s here.”
I don’t question him. If Valen says she’s here, she’s here. I scan the battlefield, searching, and then—
I see her.
At first, she’s just a figure in the chaos, standing amid the wreckage, breathing hard, her hands still trembling from the magics she unleashed.
But as she turns, everything stills.
Her dark hair, long and tangled, falls over her shoulders, streaked with soot and dust. Her skin—olive-toned beneath the grime and dirt—catches the flickering firelight, casting shadows over sharp cheekbones, parted lips, and eyes that burn even now.
And those eyes—dark, fierce, afraid. She looks wild. Like something pulled from the storm itself. And yet . . . there’s something amiss.
She isn’t armored. She’s weaponless. Her clothes are disheveled and haphazardly thrown on—like she had to dress in a hurry.
And yet—she’s the only one left standing.
I take in the scene around her—the bodies, the scorched earth, the lingering pulse of power in the air.
She is devastation and survival woven into one.
“Look at her,” Valen says beside me, his voice quiet. “She’s barely standing.”
And he’s right.
Her hands shake, her stance unsteady, as though she’s only now realizing she survived. Like she’s just now feeling the weight of what she’s done.
She’s not just another survivor. She’s something else.
Then, movement catches my eye. A few feet away, another woman moves beside her, gripping her shoulders. This one is paler, her long, red hair tangled but not as wild.
Another survivor.
For a second, I wonder if she’s another channeler, if she’s the one who helped the woman do this—but no. The way she holds the one who leveled this village, the desperation in her tight eyes—she wasn’t a fighter in this battle.
The woman who caused this destruction was trying to save her.
Her lips move, murmuring something I can’t hear, her grip tightening as the dark-haired one sways.
And then, from the shadows of collapsed homes and broken stone, villagers begin to emerge.
