They were drenched in the night’s violence. Ash streaked their armor. Blood slicked their hands, spattered across jawlines and weapons. Kailorien's half mask bared its wolfish fangs, blood dripping from its maw and azure mana steaming from the gaps. Morvane's rune channels glowed blue, as did his eyes.
Zarrek’s axe dripped red, shouldered as they made their way through the tunnel in the dark. His eyes glowed gold, the rune magic in him restless from battle. Kailorien held his sword with a white-knuckled grip, its edge catching the pale shimmer of the Polis light.
Auryn’s breath caught, her knees buckling with relief. “Kail—”
He moved. A sudden, violent burst forward, his eyes locking on the golden-feathered stranger. His entire posture changed. Shoulders squared. Jaw set. A predator sighting its rival.
Zarrek’s gauntleted fingers tightened around his axe, the colossal breadth of him a bulwark at Kailorien’s back.
It all happened at once.
Auryn lurched toward him, but her legs faltered. The golden Glider reached for her.
“Back away,” Kailorien growled, his voice low and lethal through his mask.
The Glider didn’t flinch. A deeper shadow detached itself from the wall and landed between them with a thud that rattled the stone. Black wings flared, talons digging into the grit. Colossal black wings snapped open, a gust of wind sending Auryn stumbling back. Lu'ma caught her. Steadied her.
Auryn’s heart stopped. She knew that shape.The one from the alley.
“Riven.” Kailorien’s eyes flashed.
The word hit the air, a blade drawn across bone. He closed the distance between himself and Auryn, one arm pulling her to his chest, his free hand pushing Lu’ma behind him with sharp authority. His heart beat steady—impossibly so—beneath Morvane, the Bond pulsing between them in jagged bursts.
“Skycleaver,” the Riven said, voice even. Undisturbed.
Kailorien’s runes flared to life on Morvane’s surface, light bleeding across the corridor until every shadow was burned back. The golden glow etched his face into a mask of barely-leashed fury.
“Take your ward and leave,” the Riven decreed, talons curling against the stone. “And I will do the same with mine.”
Auryn’s gaze darted down.
Her breath caught.
Dangling from the male Glider’s belt was a scrap of worn leather, the familiar strap swinging against his hip.
“My satchel!” The words burst from her, raw and loud. “Give it back to me!”
The Riven’s eyes slid to her. “You abandoned it for me to find,” he said, each word deliberate. “Therefore, it is mine now.”
Her pulse spiked with more than anger. Inside was the tarnished Reskala insignia she’d pulled from a dead soldier’s chest, her carved talismans, the little glass charm Kailorien had given her years ago…pieces of herself she’d kept close when everything else was stripped away.
Kailorien stepped forward, the light of his runes flaring.
“Return what is hers,” he said, every syllable weighted.
The Riven’s talons flexed as he slid his glaive from his back in one fluid motion, its blade whispering against the stone wall.
“Then take it from me, Skycleaver,” he said, the weight of Challenge hanging in the air like a guillotine.
Behind him, the golden Glider gave a long, world-weary sigh, the sound almost drowned out in the threatening hum of Kailorien’s magic.
“Sky grant me patience,” she muttered, her feathers rustling. “Two imbeciles butting antlers in the middle of a war.”
She stepped out from the shadow of the Riven’s colossal wing, brushing dust from her hands as though the threat of bloodshed was nothing more than an inconvenience.
“You,” she said, pointing at Kailorien. “Skycleaver. Legend says you are intelligent. And yet here you stand arguing over trinkets and leathers while your Sokâr is gasping for breath.”
Kailoriendidn’t so much as glance down at Auryn, but the muscles along his jaw locked, and the grip on his sword shifted. The Riven’s stance didn’t falter, though a faint smirk ghosted across his lips.
