Wyn saw.
And something in her broke.
“NO!”
Her voice cracked like thunder.
Light surged from her chest; brilliant, wild, alive. Not just fire, but something more profound. Elemental truth wrapped in gold.
It exploded out of her in a wave. There was no flame, no heat, but the memory of both. It shimmered like sunlight on armor, like truth made visible.
Every Vorrhound froze. The whispers stopped.
Then the light struck them.
The closest Vorrhound howled as its shadow-flesh peeled back like smoke torn by wind. Others burst apart mid-lunge, their ribcages splintering with the force of it. One tried to flee, but it dissolved in an instant as the light touched it. Wyn stood in the center, her eyes wide, her mouth parted in silent awe and terror. Her cloak whipped around her like agitated wings. Her frame trembled violently, the residual power of her summons rippling through her.
And then, as the danger had evaporated, the fire in her dimmed.
The light collapsed inward, returning to her chest with one final pulse—like a heartbeat.
She swayed, her eyes flickering, but I was already moving.
The moment her knees buckled, I was there, crossing the space between us in three fast strides, catching her before she hit the ground.
Her weight sagged into my arms, light and shaking. She was warm and still.
I cradled her gently, one hand behind her head, lowering her to the earth like she might shatter.
Her hands were ice, her face pale, but her eyes were wide.
She looked at me. “What…what did I just do?”
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know.
So, I held her.
Alaric slowly approached, his expression guarded. “What the hell was that?”
“She saved us,” Jasira said hoarsely. “Gods above…she saved us.”
Gideon sat down hard on a log, rubbing his ribs. “If that’s what she does when she’s angry, I’ll never flirt with her again.”
I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t.
Because I was still staring at her. At the place where the light had come from.
The ground beneath seemed to tilt, a dizzying sensation of being out of control.What was she now capable of?
Alaric dropped beside Tyren’s body, silent. Bran whined low beside him, pressing his muzzle to the torn leather of Tyren’s boot. Wyn pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes glassy. Gideon swore under his breath, rubbing his eyes. Jasira crouched nearby, tucking a torn bit of Tyren’s cloak over his face.
He wasn’t simply a guard. He’d been one of us.
“He used to sing when he stood watch,” Jasira murmured. “Badly. But it helped me sleep.”
“We should bury him,” Wyn whispered. “He deserves more than to be left in this place.”
Alaric stood, nodding grimly. “We’ll do it right.”
