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I glanced at my father, his stony resolve mirroring my own. Behind him, Liwei and Shuxiao shook their heads, as did Wenzhi. No, we would not surrender. Yet as I studied the horde of soldiers before us, fear slunk into my heart for myself and those I loved, all who stood upon these shores today. Because if we did not surrender, we would fight—and I did not know if we could win.

A slight movement caught my eye—Prince Yanxi tilting his head toward Wugang. He was desperate to free his brother, as was I. While Prince Yanming was in Wugang’s grasp, we could not attack.

“Stop lying to yourself, Wugang.” I spoke with deliberate rudeness, using the name he disdained. Something flickered in his eyes before it was abruptly doused. I had thought he hated his name for reminding him of his mortal roots, but perhaps it reminded him of what he had lost: his parents, his family, his murdered wife.

“You say you’re glad to be free of love, except you envy those who have it,” I said slowly. “You killed the one you most loved, your family and friends are deceased. And now, you will be alone for eternity.”

My words were merciless, intended to edge Wugang into rashness—yet they were shameful nonetheless. As his fingers dug deeper into Prince Yanming’s shoulders, a soft gasp slipped from the boy before he bit down on his lip.

Rage flared, dangerously high. “Strike me if you dare. Or do you prefer to hide behind a child, even when you’re surrounded by your own troops?”

A snarl erupted from Wugang’s throat. With a rough shove, he sent Prince Yanming sprawling to the ground. Waves of azure light erupted from Prince Yanxi’s palms, knocking aside the soldiers guarding him, as he snatched up his brother, racing toward us.

I swept up my bow, yet my father’s arrow was already streaking toward Wugang. He spun aside, the bolt of ice plunging into the soldier behind—only to shatter into fragments like it had struck stone. The soldier did not flinch, not a single cry did it utter.

Wenzhi’s pupils gleamed silver bright. As a glittering wave of his power coursed toward the soldiers, a look of revulsion crossed his face. “They have no minds to confound, no hearts to strike fear into. Nothing to confuse or put to sleep. Nor can I infiltrate Wugang’s thoughts. He is shielded; he came prepared.”

More soldiers closed around Wugang, the rest stalking toward us. Their guandao flashed—curved silver blades with a jagged edge, welded to long poles of polished jade. They moved like the wind, as swift as a sandstorm. An army of death.

My fingers were stiff with terror, but I forced them to bend, releasing an arrow that hurtled into the shoulder of the nearest soldier. Sky-fire blazed down its arm, a crack forming all around as the arm fell off with a clunk. No blood spilled, though the soldier’s flesh glistened with a translucent wetness. The creature did not pause, seemingly indifferent to its missing limb, impervious to pain or fear.

The Celestial Empress wrenched free of her captors, crimson flames surging from her palms. Those scorched, halted in their stride—the empress running toward us. As a soldier gave chase, I let fly an arrow that plunged into its thigh. The creature shuddered as it fell down, twitching as light crackled around it.

Liwei raced to his mother, flames rippling along the length of his blade. As a soldier leapt before him, raising its guandao, my arrow struck the carved disc on its armor. The jade fractured as Liwei’s sword plunged through it, flames coursing into the creature’s body, its pale skin melting like wax. Dazzling light erupted from the soldier’s chest, the luminous glow of a laurel seed nestled where a heart should beat. Had Wugang planted it there? Was that the source of the creatures’ power? The soldier lurched upright then, the first sign of distress I had seen. The mottled patches upon its body thickened—like ice hardening on a lake—as the soldier collapsed into a quivering pile, the glow in its eye sockets waning. Spirals of gold dust slipped from the cavern of its throat, coiling into the air, soon lost amid the streaming sunlight. How I wished the Celestial spirit wrenched from its peace might find it again … even as relief surged through my veins.

These soldiers were not invulnerable; they could be destroyed.

“Break the jade discs to get at the laurel seeds within,” I called out to the others. “They are vulnerable to heat, to fire and lightning—use what you can.”

I tossed the Jade Dragon Bow to my father—his weapon was of no use here, for the laurel’s nature was cold. He caught it deftly, his fingers closing around it with practiced ease. The bow settled in his grip as I had only ever seen it do for me. As my father drew back the cord, Sky-fire flashed between his fingers, already hurtling toward the enemy. I grasped my magic to shield my parents and myself, as the rest did the same. Drawing my sword, I ran a finger along its blade, my power gliding across it until it blazed with vermilion fire.

We formed a tight circle—Liwei and Prince Yanxi on my right, Wenzhi on my left. My father took up the other side, with Shuxiao and the Celestial Empress beside him. My mother was tucked in the center, along with Prince Yanming, while the soldiers wound around us like a monstrous serpent, trapping us in its coils. The air rippled with the force of their energy slamming against our shields—holding fast—yet it felt like being kicked in the gut.

It was a clumsy, hacking, brutal battle. Streams of fire shot from Liwei and me, lightning from my father, while Wenzhi and Prince Yanxi deflected the blows that rained upon us. Each wound we inflicted was hard-won, like wood scraping at stone. Still, the soldiers advanced, missing limbs, skin smoking—until my gut cramped with horror.

“Watch out!”

I spun around just as Wenzhi’s blade plunged into the soldier before me, striking the disc on its armor. Its tip scraped the jade as Wenzhi’s knuckles whitened around the hilt. I gripped his hand, channeling my power into his weapon, flames surging along the metal into the soldier’s chest. Cracks streaked across the jade disc, breaking apart with a clink, as Wenzhi’s sword drove clean through its body.

We did not relent, arrows of lightning and waves of fire surging forth. Slowly, more soldiers fell back, the light winking from their eyes, their bodies shattering like glass—until the beach was strewn with those glittering shards, the air shimmering with gold dust.

Yet how long could we keep this up? Our movements were growing sluggish, a numbness sinking into my limbs. Our formation had long fallen apart—we were scattered into a thin line, wedged between the sea and Wugang’s soldiers. There was no concerted strategy, no planned attack. We were a brawling, graceless mess—a hasty stab here, a quick strike there. General Jianyun would have thrown a book at us had he witnessed our haphazard assault. But all we could do in this moment was to fight to draw another breath.

My mother gasped. I whirled to find her standing alone, unprotected, as two soldiers bore down upon my father. A glint caught my attention, a guandao thrust toward her with unerring accuracy. I lunged forward, a scream forming in my throat—but then, the blade stilled. The soldier’s eyes glowed brighter, cocking its head as though listening to something only it could hear.

Abruptly, it turned away, slashing at Wenzhi instead. Wenzhi’s sword swung up to deflect the blow, his face taut with strain. As more soldiers rushed forward, our shields wavered against the relentless horde. Fear reared high, yet I forced it back down. Each soldier struck down was one less to fight.

Wenzhi staggered back a step, his breathing roughened. “They’ve broken the shield,” he warned. As his energy gathered, forming it anew—a guandao plunged through to sink into Shuxiao’s shoulder. White light crackled along the blade as I dove at her, gripping the pole to tear it away. It slid from her flesh with a wet sound, the metal dripping with blood, a gaping slit left in its wake. Spinning around, I drove my sword through the soldier’s chest, bearing down until the jade disc shattered, rivulets of fire pouring into the wound. The creature quivered before going limp, falling to the ground.

Shuxiao’s body jerked as she sucked in a gust of air. I pressed her hand, flinching from the chill. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, though her forehead was wrinkled with discomfort. Liwei crouched beside her, his hand gliding over the wound. The blood flow staunched, though she remained ashen.

“Be careful,” Liwei cautioned. “Their weapons possess a strange magic, weakening us. It’s fortunate you got it out when you did. It spreads like a contagion, a mortal illness—except it affects our powers instead of our bodies. If unhealed, it will drain her energy, consuming her lifeforce.”

“Can you cure her?” My voice trembled.

He frowned. “I can’t do it here. I’ve contained it for now, but it won’t hold for long.”