There’s not a hint of relief in his voice.
I look at Kael, and he’s vibrating with tension or possibly rage.
Whatever it is, he’s barely controlled. He’s half-dead, but his hands and jaw are clenched. His tail rises, curling over his head, ready to fight.
He takes a step forward, not toward the creature, but toward the scarred Zmaj.
25
KAELRETH
Impact.
External.
The hunter’s body shifts—forced sideways, its balance broken by a strike that does not follow its pattern.
New variables. Multiple. My focus splits: threat, movement, positions.
Unknown combatants.
I scan. I examine. Then stop.
One of them is wrong.
Familiar. Not possible.
The pattern fractures. I know that silhouette. Incorrect. Memory conflict.
He is—no.
Eliminate error. Reassess.
The hunter adjusts, turning toward the new threat, its eye shifting off me—off her—onto the incoming force.
Good. That is the priority. That should be?—
He moves. My focus snaps to him.
Uncontrolled. Unacceptable. I correct immediately.
I try. I fail. Recognition pushes through. Not full. Not complete. Impossible fragments.
Hands. Blood. Sand.
A voice screaming. Mine. My voice.
Stay behind me.
The memory fractures before it can complete.
Corrupted. Unreliable. Threat first. Protect her.
I turn my head. She is still there. Still mine. Still present.
That is correct. I anchor to it. I stabilize. The rest can be managed.
The hunter lunges, adapting to the new combatants, shifting targets, splitting attention. I move to intercept.
