I land lightly on my feet and start running again without looking at the carnage I’ve left behind. My mother runs beside me, her breathing steady. She nods to my left.
“Horses,” she gasps as she goes.
I see the panicked steeds left behind by the group of soldiers we encountered. We swerve from our path to secure them. Their eyes roll, showing their whites, and when I approach, they rear up.
I dodge past their hooves, grab the pommel of a bay’s saddle, and swing myself up effortlessly. Then I lean over and seize the reins of a horse for my mother.
Part of being a Striker means having the ability to project a deathly calm, to use anything and everything around you to your advantage. Now, I can sense the horse steadying in my grip, relieved to have a master again. My mother climbs on hers.
I turn the horse in the direction of the scrapyards, then urge it into a gallop.
The battle scene blurs past us. Smoke has thickened so much that it’s difficult to see anything through it except the red tint of silhouettes, of Federation soldiers clashing with Marans, and of Ghosts ripping through the bodies of fleeing refugees. Ahead of us, Red’s figure is a dark, airborne speck surging around the enormous Ghosts.
An explosion near the gates makes our horses scream. I look over to see the gates finally starting to crumble—an impossible sight, something that should never have been able to happen. Those gates that had never before been breached will soon be reduced to rubble. A great roar goes up from the Federation troops, and the first of them begin to flood in, charging into a mass of somber, waiting soldiers.
I tear my gaze away from the scene and focus on our plan at hand:Get to the Premier. Kill him at all costs. Our horses speed up, their hooves pounding against the ground.
We’ve barely reached the scrapyards when a Ghost charges into our path. It turns its bleeding eyes toward us, enraged, and then bares its gaping jaws.
I pull the crossbow from my back and aim at it—but before I can fire, another arrow blooms right through its clavicle, making it shriek and twist around. A blur of sapphire flies through the air, landing on its shoulders.Jeran.
He grabs his gun and fires at the creature’s neck cuff until it gives way. From his side materializes Adena, blades spinning. She slices through its vulnerable vein, and blood sprays on the ground before us.
I break into a smile. They’re still here, still fighting.
Jeran hops down from the falling Ghost to land nimbly on the back of his own steed. He shoots my mother and me a questioning look. “Red?” he signs, nodding back toward where my Shield is fighting for his life.
I nod once.
Adena smiles. Her expression is fierce, her eyes alight with the anticipation of war. “Don’t want to miss the party, then,” she signs at us, and then they nudge their horses into a gallop too.
We ride through the carnage and the smoke and the flames. Past the burning gates of the outer wall and the massacre happening within. I see Ghosts lurching in through the charred entrance, while archers on the inner wall’s ramparts still try to hold their ground.
Mara has always been the last beacon of freedom. I’d crossed over into this country with my mother thinking that now we would be invincible forever, that somehow, Mara’s impenetrable capital would never fall. But the scene before me looks eerily similar to how Baseahad looked when it finally crumbled to the Federation. There is no difference.
My attention zeroes in on the Premier, still stark against the sky in his armor astride his horse. Overhead, an enemy Skyhunter dives down, aiming for Red. He has finally killed the two Ghosts guarding the Premier, shredding one’s calves and cutting its tendons, slicing clean through the second’s throat. But it doesn’t matter—more Ghosts, massive ones that must have been converted decades ago—converge on the battle. The pain that comes through our tether sears me to the bone.
I think of Red’s memory that had once flashed through my mind, of him seeing his sister as the Federation gradually transformed her into their Ghost and him into their next weapon. I think of Corian, his eyes turned up to me as I take his life so that he will not walk this land as a Ghost. I think of my mother as we huddled on the other side of the cliffs, watching refugees fall into the abyss as the bridges collapsed.
This is what the Federation does to us. It plants these horrifying memories in our minds until our hearts have turned hollow.
I clench my teeth at the sight, my heart burning from Red’s fury, then crouch lower against my steed’s back as we surge toward the fight. The rest of the battle around us dims into the distance. Even now, my Striker companions don’t make a sound beside me. My mother stays silent. We ride as a phantom team, accompanied by nothing but the pounding of war hooves.
Mara will fall. But maybe we can take the Federation’s Premier with us.
Through our tether, I reach out to Red.You’re not fighting alone.
His attention flickers to us. Our eyes find each other through thechaos and hold for a precious moment. I linger on him for as long as I can. It might be the last time we ever get to see each other.
Then I narrow my gaze on the closest Ghost and pull my gun out of its holster. My other hand yanks out one of my blades.
For a moment, I think I can feel Corian’s spirit riding beside us, his smile fierce and his hair wild. It’s as if nothing had changed since the day we headed out together into our first battle.
See you after the carnage, he’d sign to me, then vanish into the melee.
I hurtle toward the Ghost and then jump high into the air. I aim at its neck and fire.
The bloodlust in me blinds my concentration to anything else. I am death now, steel and sword and bullet. I am one with my weapons. The world blurs around me—I see Adena and Jeran throw themselves into the fray, aiming at the other Ghosts. My mother has her teeth bared as she fires arrows into a nearby Federation soldier. And overhead, Red clashes with another Skyhunter, their wings a maelstrom of death as they spiral and spin.
