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No.

"Vyrael." He already feels it.

Yes.

"They moved us."

Possibly.

"Fuck possibly."

Elarion. Tiravell. Threat spreading. Defenses strained. Requests increasing. Varethia finally deploys. Then the same night a first-year disappears inside the Academy. Not alone. Inside increased security.

"They waited." Vyrael's wings beat harder.

We do not know.

"They fucking waited."

Until Varethia emptied itself. Not completely. Enough. I reach for Eirea. Nothing.

"I can't feel her."

I know.

"I can't fucking feel her."

I know.

The horizon changes sometime in the last ten minutes. At first, I think dawn. Impossible. Wrong direction. Wrong time. A faint orange glow behind the clouds. My mind doesn't understand. Then it does.

No.

Vyrael sees it too. His entire body changes beneath me. Wings angle. Head lifts. Every trace of exhaustion disappears. Smoke.

"No." The word comes out quietly.

The clouds ahead aren't clouds. Not entirely. Black smoke rises into the night. Thick. Orange beneath. Fire. Too much.

Varethia.

My heart stops. Then starts so hard it hurts.

"VYRAEL." He doesn't need the command. His wings drive down. Once. Twice. We accelerate hard enough that my body pulls against the harness.

The mountains separate. The valley opens. And I see it.

Fire. Not one. Several. Village. Western edge. Something burning near the lower Academy wall.

Dragons in the sky. Too many. Some ours. Some—

I don't know. They move through smoke. Banking. Diving. Fighting.

Magic erupts below. Blue. Gold. White. Red. Bright enough to illuminate the clouds.

Something explodes near the eastern grounds. Even from here, I see it.

Then sound reaches us. Distant. Wrong. Roars. Horns. Screaming.