The Executors find us two hours after sunrise.
Three of them. Emerging from behind an ice formation that should have been too small to hide creatures their size. They’ve been waiting. Tracking. Using the terrain’s instability to mask their approach.
Kaster moves before I fully register the threat.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t warn me. Doesn’t need to.
We’ve fought beside each other enough now that words are unnecessary.
The first Executor dies fast.
Kaster takes it apart with focused violence—claws extended, dragonfire flaring, the whole thing compressed into seconds rather than minutes. The creature’s regeneration activates immediately, divine power knitting flesh back together even as it falls.
I’m already moving.
My magic stutters in the unstable field, catching and releasing in unpredictable bursts. But I know this working. Know it in my blood and bone. The low hum builds in my throat—almost subsonic, more sensation than sound.
The interference fights me. My power wants to scatter, disperse, lose cohesion in the corrupted magical field. I force it to hold. Force it to obey.
Stay dead.
The command carries through my power, wrapping around the Executor’s essence, binding the death in place. The knitting stops. The creature stays down.
One kill. Permanent.
The exertion costs me. My vision goes grainy at the margins, pressure building behind my eyes. But I don’t have time to recover.
The second Executor lunges for me.
Kaster intercepts before I can react. His body slams into the creature’s midsection, driving it sideways, away from my position. They tumble across the ice—dragon and Executor,locked in combat that shakes the ground and cracks the unstable surface beneath them.
I turn to face the third.
This one is smarterthan the others.
It doesn’t charge directly. Doesn’t give me a clear target. It circles, obsidian eyes tracking my movements, waiting for an opening.
I’ve seen this behavior before. Hunters used similar tactics in the ravine. But the Executor adds inhuman patience to the strategy—the willingness to wait indefinitely for the perfect moment to strike.
My magic builds slowly in this corrupted field. The hum that should flow easily catches in my throat. I have seconds, maybe less, before I can anchor anything.
The Executor seems to sense my vulnerability. Its circling tightens. Closer. Closer.
The ice cracks beneath us. A warning that neither of us heeds.
It lunges.
I dodge left. Barely. Its claws slice air where my throat was a heartbeat ago. The momentum carries it past me, and I use the second of separation to push more power into my building working.
Not enough. Not yet.
Behind me, Kaster roars. The sound shakes ice from nearby formations, sends cracks racing through sheets that were barely stable to begin with. His second Executor is down—not dead, regenerating, but out of the fight temporarily.
The third Executor pivots, tracking my new position. I’m running out of terrain. Running out of time.
Come on. Come on.
My power finally releases. The low hum becomes a vibration in my bones. The interference parts, momentarily, like clouds revealing sun.
