He spun—too late.
Captain Eric. Gray eyes like a storm. Behind him, a dozen more guards poured into the fray.
“Let them come,” Collin snarled.
He raised Lumen. Steel met steel. Sparks flew.
Collin fought with everything he had—rage, grief, the raw scream of heartbreak. He didn’t recognize the blur at the edge of his vision.
Then—impact.
A blow slammed into the side of his skull. His vision exploded. His arms flailed; Lumen flew from his grip.
The world pitched sideways. His face hit the earth. Sound dissolved into ringing. The fire flickered to ash.
The last thing he felt was the earth beneath him.
Then—nothing.
For a moment, Collin looked up toward the crest of the incline. Dragonfly stood there, framed by moonlight and shadow, Nic’s arms still braced around her waist. Her eyes found his, wide with worry—a silent plea, asking if he was alright.
Collin nodded, though the world felt too unsteady.
“What’s the hold up? Keep moving!” a guard snapped from the rear.
Collin forced himself forward. Every step sent sparks of pain through his hips; his legs were on the verge of tearing loose from their sockets. The earth tilted and swayed beneath him.
As he reached the top, Dragonfly extended her hand. He seized it, clinging to the warmth of her touch like a lifeline. That slender connection pulled him the final steps, grounding him. Once again on level ground, he turned and hauled Uriah up beside him.
Nic pressed himself against the thick wall of foliage and gave a small nod, signaling for Collin and Dragonfly to move ahead. Then he fell back behind his brother, silent and watchful—his battered body ever standing guard.
Off and on, Collin drifted at the edge of awareness, his mind submerged in murky water. Voices broke through—shouting, angry, urgent. Captain Eric was barking orders, each word slicing through black powder smoke. But Collin didn’t answer. He let go, let himself sink. It was easier than waking.
When he surfaced again, the pain was still there, thrumming behind his eyes—but the world had shifted. He blinked and found himself staring into Dragonfly’s face.
She was illuminated by silver moonlight and the ghostly haze of smoke. A halo encircled her, glittering like the edge of a dream. For one heart-stopping moment, Collin wondered if he’d died—and she, radiant and real, was his reward.
“It’s time to go,” she whispered.
He would go anywhere with her. Into paradise or into the flames—as long as she held his hand, he’d follow.
She did. Small but steady, she pulled him to his feet, anchoring his balance as he swayed.
The fires had burned themselves out. What remained of Nesaea lay in ruin—charred beams, sunken roofs, smoke trailing toward the stars. Some villagers had slipped away, vanishing into the forest’s embrace. Guards had already been dispatched to hunt them. Others hadn’t escaped. Their bodies would be burned. Those who had survived—children clinging to siblings, bloodied adults, the silent elderly—were herded like shadows back toward the summit.
Collin and Dragonfly fell into line with the rest.
The massacre had lasted only a few hours.
But to Collin, it felt like he had lived and died a dozen lifetimes beneath that smoke-choked sky.
The golden sun had just begun to rise when Collin stepped into the Chroma town square. He stood beside Aries, now relieved ofthe boy he had carried so long. Dragonfly was at Collin’s side, her fingers threaded tightly through his.
Nic and Uriah trudged in behind them, their steps faltering. A dozen more displaced villagers followed, herded by guards. They did not pause but were led onward toward North Town.
Rhea and Sky arrived soon after. A guard ordered Sky to hand the infant over to a Nesaea woman. More guards passed, more villagers—ghosts with open eyes—until finally Logan stepped into view. He glanced toward his friends, but Captain Owen barked an order, sending him onward with the others. There was nothing Collin could do—not to stop him, not even to comfort him.
Logan, kind-hearted and gentle, had lost everything.
