Then, without warning, she releases the sword and blasts her magic at the five of us. We aren’t ready for it, or prepared, we’re still battling the dark magic of the sword, hovering in our beam of magic. Her magic slams against us, sending each one of us flying; Thorne toppling down the tower of rubble, Fox shooting out towards the field, Beaufort slamming towards the towers, Dray falling into the rubble. Our magic is ripped apart and instantly, the Empress’s shadows find us, the pain from before returning tenfold, screeching round my body, searing every nerve, strangling around my throat.
I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t feel anything but the overwhelming pain and my own death hurtling towards me.
And then fire.
Flame. Roaring. Heat. Claws curling around my body and the sensation of being lifted into the sky, high above the academy and the battle and the Empress.
I blink open my eyes.
The pain lessens just a fraction, and I tip my head backward and stare up into the belly of my dragon. His scales are scuffed and broken, one of his great wings is damaged, and yet, he’s pulling me up, up, up, away from the danger, attempting to drag me to safety.
Around us, shadow magic explodes, and he dodges this way and that, swerving and swooping.
“No, Blaze,” I try to cry, but my voice is nothing more than that of a mouse, feeble and pathetic. “We can’t go. We can’t leave them.”
I stretch out my hand and find the light again. It’s not as strong. It’s not as bright. It’s a mere match, a flicker of a flame lost in endless sunlight. But I push it down, down toward the Empress, down toward where my mates struggle in agony.
And it’s at that moment, with everybody’s eyes raised to the heavens, raised to me and the golden dragon and the last beam of my light, that it happens.
Another flicker of light down below us.
Then another.
And another.
Light that flies through the air toward the Empress, toward her army of shadow weavers.
Beams of light, more and more of them. I scrunch up my eyes, peering across the distance.
Where is it coming from?
People.
Students.
Students of the Academy. Not shadow weavers. Students from Granite, Iron, and Slate. More of the light flickers into being every second I watch.
And all of it – every single beam – following mine.
And hitting the Empress.
The impact is so bright it’s blinding, and I have to raise an arm to shield my eyes. So bright I can no longer see the form of the Empress at all. She’s lost in a blaze of radiance.
“Down,” I tell the dragon, who roars with what sounds like triumph, and then swoops down to the academy, dropping me onto my feet before landing just a few paces behind me.
I expect my legs to buckle. I expect to find no strength left in my body, not after that pain, that magic she burrowed right into the center of my very being.
But I don’t.
I’m strong, upright, my hands outstretched as I show the others, as they follow my command. And there’s another stream of light. And another. And another.
And then, beyond all the light, I see the silhouettes of my four strong, brave mates, rising to their feet, their shadows too, soaring forward, seeking my power, my light, combining with everything else.
There’s an almighty explosion of light that throws every single person backward off their feet.
When I open my eyes again, the sky – the world – seems darker, even in the bright sunshine.
And the Empress is gone.
