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They shimmer as they spiral downward, catching and refracting the light in their translucence. Each jagged piece an echo, a ghost of the fractured sky above.

The four men snap their gazes toward me, an ancient judgment etched into faces too magnificent to comprehend fully.

No, not men, not mortals at all. The Anemoi. The winds given form.

The realization claws its way into the clarity of my thoughts, and it staggers me anew.

One of the gods speaks, his cold, ancient voice breaking the stillness that has settled in the wake of the storm.

“What have you done?”

I open my mouth, searching for words that aren’t there.

And then—just as swiftly as they appeared—they fade. Their forms dissolve, unmaking themselves into currents of air that spiral upward before dissipating. The absence they leave behind is colder than their presence. Foreboding settles deep in the pit of my stomach.

I turn, stumbling a step and scanning the arena frantically. Blood pools on the sands, and bodies lie crumpled among the broken columns and dunes. Only the robed Acolytes remain, their weapons drawn but forgotten as they fall to their knees, faces bent toward the sand in silent supplication.

Keres isn’t here.

A scream climbs my throat, and frustration hits me in a wave so potent that my knees buckle under the weight of it.

Warm hands steady me before I can fall completely, firm and grounding. “Stormwind,” Lyxander says, his eyes running over me in sharp assessment. “You emerged.”

I blink as his words settle inside me. Emerged. The victory of it seems so small after everything that has come to pass. My voice cracks as I speak. “Nyssa? Is she okay?”

“She’s with my kin. And Keres?”

My teeth grit, and the truth gets trapped behind them.

Lyxander’s expression hardens as he wraps an arm around my waist. “His days are numbered.”

The promise in his voice soothes me and I slump into his side, but dread twists my stomach as we start our trek over the sands.

His days may be numbered, but I have a feeling so are all of ours.

The walk back to the arena entrance is painfully long. My desperate need to find Nyssa drives my feet forward, but each step is a deliberate act of balance made harder by the unfamiliar weight on my back. My wings shift awkwardly, dragging through the sand behind me. No matter how hard I try to will them away, to draw them back into whatever essence they came from, they refuse to obey.

Lyxander remains at my side, his firm arm around my waist keeping me upright. He’s already tucked his own wings away, his shoulders smooth and deceptively tycheroi again. I envy the ease with which he makes the impossible look natural. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes, knowing I’ll find unwavering patience there. Instead, I focus on the ground.

One step. Then another.

My gums ache as my tongue brushes against the ridges of my teeth. My canines have lengthened into points that press uncomfortably against my lip.

“Aella!”

My head snaps up at Nyssa and Kallias. The sight of them—whole, and so achingly real—steals the air from my lungs.

Nyssa runs straight into me, crashing into my unsteady body with enough force to knock me back into Lyxander’s bracing hands before I find my footing again.

Her arms wrap tightly around me, her face pressed into my shoulder with a desperation that mirrors my own. My breath breaks, shuddering, and I can’t stop my trembling hands from locking onto her shoulders, holding her as if letting go might shatter me.

“Don’t—” I choke out, the word fragile and broken in my throat. “Scare me like that—ever again.”

“Like you can talk,” she says, and I catch the faint tremor in her words. She pulls back enough to meet my eyes, her expression shifting into something so achingly familiar as her voice drops to a whisper. “Aella, are you aware you have wings sprouting out of your back?”

I choke on a laugh, the sound cracking and breaking into something closer to a sob. “I—” My breath hitches as I shake my head helplessly. “I have so much to tell you.”

“We’ll have time,” she whispers. “We’ll take all the time we need.” We pull each other close again, clutching tightly like the moment might dissolve if we let go too soon.