“It’s… concentrated ignition. It doesn’t just burn—it consumes. Detonates. Explodes. Anything within its primary radius is gone. Completely. And the secondary…” Her voice tightens. “There won’t be much left to save there either.”
A silence follows. Heavier this time. The kind of silence that’s responding to something that sounds a lot like a death sentence.
Teddy drags a hand through his sandy-blond hair, composing himself. “And the radius?”
Saana sucks in a sharp breath. “At last check, Marin said up to one hundred feet,” she says, and the words sound like verdict.
Fuck.
One hundred feet of combustion.
Acid rises in Elyssara’s throat.
But Thalmyr steps forward again, taking charge of the room like a man experienced at shoving down emotion and performing as king.
“Maireth will not arrive quietly,” he announces.
His voice cuts through the room, calm and certain in a way that makes the words settle deeper than the fear Saana has just introduced.
“She has never been one for restraint. She will not be avoiding casualties.” His gaze lifts, finding Elyssara with quiet, unflinching clarity. “If she has brought Skyfire, she intends to annihilate.”
The room stills.
Panic being tamped down and forced into understanding.
Ronyn exhales slowly. “So we’re not dealing with strategy. We’re dealing with a godsdamned purge.”
“Which means we don’t give her a target,” Teddy says immediately, already recalculating. “No clustering. No obvious formations. We move in smaller units and force her to choose between wasting it or risking her own units.”
The strategy is sound. Logical. But risky. Risky for the small units with nothing but their weapons and gifts from the Stars above.
“We really need the fucking Melders freed,” Elyssara snaps, her palms balling into fists.
Seren’s jaw tightens slightly. “Fucking Lara,” she mutters under her breath. Then her eyes snap to Caev, Daphinia. “Why can’twefree the dragons? Surely we can do the spell.”
Caev clicks her tongue. “Bound by Lara’s blood,” she shrugs, as if she’s commenting on the weather. “There are eleven witches at your disposal. We’ve come to your aid. Allow us to use our skills. We’ve not done nearly enough killing lately.” She scrapes dirt out from under her nails with a dagger, expression bored. She sounds almost insulted at the lack of murder she’s been able to commit.
Ronyn huffs. “Tarrakai is getting impatient—he wants to level the Frael Forest.”
“Tarrakai is the one they’ll aim for first if you take to the skies too early,” Teddy says.
Ronyn’s grin is sharp, unbothered. “Good. Means I get to make it interesting.”
“You’ll set off the Skyfire. What if they have it positioned in the godsdamned city already?” Saana points out.
Fuck.
Choices lessen, and pressure bears down on Elyssara like a vice.
“You have to stay alive,” Elyssara snaps at Ronyn, her voice firm. “We use Tarrakai when it matters. Not for spectacle. We need to see how the Skyfire works.”
His gaze flicks to her, something unreadable passing through it, and then he nods once.
Calira clears her throat. “I know how it works,” she announces, her voice a steady, calm command.
All eyes snap to her, and they wait for her to speak.
“I created it.”
