The elements seemed to conspire against us. The biting wind drove rain into our faces, our boots sank into the mud, and thunder and lightning raged around us. I hadn’t released Rada’s hand since our fall. We clung to each other, her cold, damp skin my sole anchor to reality. The way up into the hills had turned into an endless battle, only our stubborn will propelling us forward.
As we finally emerged from between the trees, we both stood still, frozen in place.
It was all gone. The idyllic, flower-adorned pastures where we hadrested side by side just hours before were no more. Only a broken, devastated field of mud, splintered trees, and jagged stones remained.
A mudslide. My stomach cramped in a sickening swoop when I realized the araks were nowhere to be seen.
Then I spotted a group of enormous, huddled shapes at the gate, pressed together in fright. Thank the stars! Some of them had survived. I restrained Rada just in time as she cried out in relief and tried to rush toward them.
“We have to be careful,” I cautioned. “Make sure they don’t run us over in their panic.”
As good-natured as the beasts usually were, they were out of their minds with fear, moaning loudly, their large, curved horns slamming into each other and the fence. I hesitated, unsure how to proceed.
Alma saved us. As we approached the gate, the herd’s matriarch pushed forward, nuzzling her massive head against Rada’s outstretched hand through a gap in the wood. Rada patted her, murmuring soothing words into the animal’s ear. Remarkably, this calmed the entire herd; they remained jittery but were no longer in a state of panic. After a brief glance at me, Rada swung the gate open. The araks followed Alma outside in a line, their hooves sinking into the muddy road. Desolation swept over Rada’s face as they passed her by one by one, and she was finally able to count them.
“There are three missing!” She strode toward the storm-ravaged field, apparently determined to ignore the danger.
“Rada, no.” Once more, I restrained her, gripping her wrist tightly. She was all wild desperation when I pulled her to me, her eyes wide, her wet hair plastered against her cheeks. I cradled her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me, to acknowledge the truth. “They are gone, Rada.”
“No,” she protested, shaking her head frantically. “We must—”
“We must save those who remain… and ourselves.”
I half expected her to remain persistent, her body tense. But she suddenly relented, easing up against me and closing her eyes. She gave a single, decisive nod.
The descent from the hills was a never-ending nightmare. Alma led the way, her instincts holding up even now. Our close calls were so numerous that I lost count. My heart raced each time a hoof skidded off the path, a curved horn nearly grazed me or Rada, or a lightning strike sent the herd into fresh turmoil.
It happened at the end. So close to the farm that I had fooled myself into believing the storm was waning, that we would all survive. Lightning and thunder struck simultaneously, so violently that I instinctively ducked. The deafening crash of a collapsing tree and the piercing screams of an animal in pain followed.
When I could see again, my ears still ringing, Chaos roared around us. The magic fueled the storm into a tempest that reached for me with ravenous hunger.
A mocking hiss slithered over my skin.“Master, Master, Master…”
I gasped. No, it couldn’t be. The Chiasma lacked the power to conjure such a storm, even with the help of the daggers.
Rada stumbled against me, grabbing hold of me in desperation. She thrust an object into my hand—something smooth that pulsed wildly in my grip. The Chaosdagger we had taken from Vultaron.
“Is the storm following the dagger?” she shouted.
“No,” I replied. But the dagger might be our only chance of salvation. “The storm is drawn to me,” I admitted. Somehow, my former servants had sent it after me. And if I did not find a way to tame it, its unrestrained power would devour us.
Bracing myself, I lifted the dagger. The magic roared inrecognition, whirling around us in a gleaming stream of amethyst and emerald.
Rada’s gaze filled with apprehension, though her hold on me did not falter. “Noctis! Are you sure?”
Another lightning bolt struck alarmingly close, sending the araks into a renewed panic. “It’s the only way,” I murmured, uncertain if Rada could hear me.
The dagger in my hands flared like a fallen star as I reached for the magic surrounding us. It came to me like an eager lover, caressing my skin, filling my very being. I could feel it all—the raging force of the storm, destructive yet magnificent, waiting for me to reach out and harness it. Unlike the day I had wielded the dagger against the Serai, when only the magic in itslyr-stone was mine to command, now the dagger was acting as a conduit, channeling the storm’s full might into me.
Everything else fell away. I no longer sensed the rain pelting me or the wind tearing at us. There was only the power coursing through my veins, the magic radiating off me in pulsing waves.
“You have to share it!”
A distant voice in my ear, fingers clawing at my arm. I ignored them. The last time, the magic had made me feel alive. Today, for a fleeting, exhilarating moment, it made me feel like a god again.
Then the pain hit. A searing sensation raged through me, as if my blood were on fire, boiling me alive. I desperately reached for the magic, attempting to control it, but it refused my command. Dread awakened inside me.
I had been wrong, terribly wrong. I was too weak to control this tempest.
