Auren moves with cold efficiency, picking off enemies that get too close to the fortress walls. His fire is precise, surgical, nothing wasted. Every blast finds its target.
And the Fire-Bringers?—
Selene fights from the eastern rampart, her flames forming barriers that shadow dragons can’t cross. She’s protecting acluster of human servants who couldn’t reach shelter in time, her fire a shield between them and the darkness.
Aisling has taken a position near the armory, her fire supporting the dragon warriors who swoop past her position. Every time one engages an enemy, her flames join the assault, precise bursts that turn the tide of individual fights.
They’re not helpless. Not weapons being wielded. They’re warriors, fighting alongside dragons as equals.
Everything Lakhu told me was a lie.
SIXTEEN
NASYRA
Isee it happen from across the courtyard.
Selene’s attention is focused forward, on the dragons attacking her barrier. She doesn’t see the shadow dragon rising from the courtyard floor behind her—materializing from the darkness itself, claws extended toward her unprotected back.
I don’t think. Don’t calculate. Just move.
My shadow-flame tears across the distance, faster than I’ve ever thrown it, driven by something that goes beyond training or instinct. The fire slams into the shadow dragon a heartbeat before its claws can reach her, unraveling it from the inside out.
Selene spins, eyes wide. She sees the dissolving shadow, the smoke where her attacker used to be. Her gaze finds mine across the chaos.
She nods. Once. Sharp. A warrior’s acknowledgment of a debt owed.
Then she turns back to the fight, and so do I.
But something has shifted. Something has been acknowledged between us that goes beyond words.
She would have died. If I hadn’t been here, if I hadn’t acted, she’d be gone. And I saved her—not because someone orderedme to, not because I was repaying a debt, but because she was in danger and I couldn’t let her fall.
That means something. I don’t know what yet. But it means something.
The battle turnsagainst us twenty minutes in.
More shadow dragons pour through rifts that keep opening in the sky. For every one we destroy, two more take its place. This isn’t an attack—it’s a statement. Lakhu demonstrating that he can reach us anywhere, that no fortress is safe, that eventually he’ll wear us down through sheer numbers.
My control starts to slip.
The shadow-flame grows harder to direct. A few days of training isn’t enough—not for sustained combat, not for the kind of extended focus this battle demands. My fire starts responding to emotion rather than intention, flaring when I’m afraid, guttering when exhaustion sets in.
A shadow dragon gets through my defenses. Its claws rake across my shoulder, tearing fabric, drawing blood. The pain is sharp enough to white out my vision for a second.
A second is all it takes. The dragon pulls back for another strike?—
And explodes in a burst of pure, clean fire.
Aisling appears at my side, her hands still raised from the blast. Her face is streaked with soot, her braid half-undone, but her eyes are sharp and steady.
“You’re welcome,” she says. “Now move.”
She drags me toward the fortress wall, her fire providing cover as we run. Another shadow dragon dives for us; she destroys it without breaking stride.
“I had it under control,” I manage.
“You have blood running down your arm and a shadow dragon about to take your head off. That’s not control, that’s optimism.”
