But I can’t.
Jarek is in front of me now, gripping my shoulders, shaking me hard. “Thane, what the bloody hell is happening?!”
I can’t speak. Can’t explain. There are no words for this. No reason why Amara’s pain is ripping through me like it’s mine. It’s impossible. It shouldn’t be happening.
And yet—it is.
And I don’t understand any of it.
Jarek and Rian are still staring, eyes wide, weapons forgotten. I shake my head, forcing air into my lungs, trying to focus, trying to push past the fire still burning through me.
I suck in a shuddering breath, blinking against the dark spots flooding my vision. My hands curl into fists against the dirt, shaking, furious, terrified.
She’s alive, but hurt. Badly.
And I—I FEEL IT.
Then—Xaroth’s voice slams into my mind like a battering ram.
“Mor’kaar! She is hurt! Calryx is on her way.”
His words confirm what I already know. Fear squeezes its hand around my heart.
“I’m on my way, Xaroth. How far out?”
“Minutes. But you need to move quickly! She is bleeding out!”
Gods.
I shove myself up, every breath a battle, every movement like fire. My hand fumbles for my sword—I slam it into its sheath with shaking fingers.
“I have to go.”
Jarek steps in front of me, blocking my path. “Go where? You can barely stand—”
I level him with a glare, my voice sharp. “I don’t have time to explain! She’s dying! Move!”
He hesitates for half a second—then steps aside. I don’t waste another breath—I turn and sprint towards the Landing Grounds.
Because whether I understand this or not, Amara needs me.
AMARA
By the time Calryx lands at the outpost, the sky is streaked with fire and gold. My vision swims, edges darkening—I barely feel the jolt of impact as her massive body settles onto the landing grounds.
Everything hurts. My arms feel like lead, my legs weak from gripping too tightly, from bracing against every sharp turn, every desperate maneuver.
Then there’s the pain.
A sharp, searing agony rips through my ribs, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. Too much blood. I can feel it soaking into my tunic, sticky and hot, coating my skin beneath my leathers.
Calryx shifts beneath me, growling low, her great body tense—restless, urgent.
“Hold on, Virelya.”Her voice is steady but strained, as if she’s trying to keep me anchored.“He’s coming. I let Xaroth know.”
I try to dismount—to breathe through the dizziness. My hands slip against Calryx’s scales as I slide down her neck.
The ground tilts. And then, arms catch me. Strong. Unyielding. Crushing me against a chest I instantly recognize.
