“Incoming!” Gigi shouts.
We dodge a barrage of scales that rain down like molten hail, and my ears tremor with the grating sound of a furious roar. The dragon disappears into the gorge beneath the bridge.
“Be ready,” Taron says beside me. “It’ll be back with a vengeance.”
Be ready?My thoughts come in shattered bursts. I don’t know what to do. The flurry of emotions within me is too wild and skittish to sculpt, so I turn my attention to the air around me, finding the fear and grief and pain that threads through the island breeze. And there’s somethingelse, drawing me to the last red team member who took a scale to the heart.
A dark mist is exuding from her, as though her shadow is peeling away from her. It’s the slow birth of a Soul Wraith.
I absorb it deep within me. Since the Soul Wraith isn’t fully spawned yet, I can easily suppress the vision that follows: a playback of demise.
Using the borrowed energy, I sculpt a long serpentine whip that unfurls through the air like a stream of liquid shadow. It thrashes like it’s alive, and it might as well be, because the moment the dragon vaults up from the gorge, its cruel eyes trained on our group, my whip lashes at it. The first blow lands on the dragon’s tail, not enough to bother the beast. But the second strike, aimed at its face, alongside a fiery gale from the twins, provokes another enraged roar. Another blast of scales in our direction.
Taron leaps in front of us, his elbow hooked through the air. He deflects the molten scales with an invisible shield, setting off a cascade of sparks. I can see the force of the impact ripple through his body. His forearms are straining, his muscles taut beneath the pressure.
It’s working – we’re distracting the dragon. I don’t hesitate. I lengthen my whip even further. The tip shudders and then splits, fracturing into five jagged strands. They shoot outward in unison, each strand lashing the dragon from a different angle.
“Nice,” Taron heaves beside me. But before his praise can fully register, he cries out in warning, “Watch out!”
His strong grip yanks me aside, pulling me out of harm’s way just as Mei hurtles past us, propelled by the force of an opposing competitor.
I breathe, pressed against Taron, his heartbeat reverberating in my chest like it’s my own. His breath comes in quick, shallow bursts.
“Think we should start a tally of the number of times I’ve saved you,” he says.
“Not that it’s gone to your head,” is all I’m able to manage.
Taron lets go of me, and I realize the dragon’s attention has shifted to Mei. Its fierce gaze locks on to her form on the ground. Slumped and vulnerable.
I want to warn her, but Taron moves quickly. He positions himself between Mei and the dragon to repel the incoming scales.
“Thanks,” Mei says, scrambling to her feet and without missing a beat, producing a seed from her pocket. She rubs it between her hands and breathes on it. Then she throws it in the air, causing it to instantly grow into a carnivorous snapper fern that pounces on her red team assailant.
I arch a brow when Taron returns to my side.
“What’s so funny?” he demands.
“Saving Mei? I thought you said you didn’t believe in teams.”
“I don’t. I believe in strength in numbers.”
Savannah moves in the corner of my eye, whirling her arm to summon the sand from every corner of theclearing. She moulds it into a long whip, not unlike my own, that spirals around the dragon’s limbs. Pulling her hands into her chest, the sandy whip tightens, pulling the dragon down.
“Wren, help me out over here!” she shouts in Taron’s direction. “You’re a Luna, aren’t you?”
He drops to one knee, hands outstretched, channelling his talents to assist her in pinning the colossal creature to the ground.
The dragon resists, managing to swing its tail at Savannah. Before it can catch her, a light blade cuts through the scaly appendage like softened butter. Cyrus. He’s crouched in front of her, and I’m aghast. He saved her. Maybe he’s not as iron-hearted as I thought.
The severed tail falls, shattering into a thousand molten shards when it hits the ground. Savannah sends up a shield to protect her and Cyrus from the eruption.
“Someone, do something,” Taron groans. He’s struggling to pin the wounded dragon to the ground with his talents alone. The strain becomes evident as blood trickles from his nose.
Mei digs into her utility belt. She removes a handful of seeds, rubs them in her palms and throws them at the dragon. The seeds erupt into vines. They twist, lengthen and interweave before landing on the dragon like a net. The vines burrow deep into the ground, keeping the dragon pinned.
“Now, run!” she shouts. “It won’t hold it for long!”
Our group sprints for the bridge.
