The sound rips through the battlefield, sharp and commanding, drawing every eye upward as fire rains down once more, forcing Nyrielle’s attention away from Elyssara for the first time since she arrived.
Nyrielle turns, and her expression changes. It is not fear—Seren does not think she is capable of such a thing. It is colder. More focused. Her hand lifts. Power surges. It strikes upward in a violent arc, cutting through the sky with brutal precision.
One of the dragons falters. The fire in its throat sputters as the force of the impact tears through its wing, sending it spiraling off course. It throws its rider in the process, a witch with cropped white hair tumbles from the sky, and is consumed by a blazing inferno below.
Caev.
Fear engulfs Seren. Horror. Terrifying, unfettered horror.
Another strike follows, faster this time, catching a second dragon mid-flight and driving it backward with a sound that reverberates across the city. Dragonfire surges from its great maw, firing back at Nyrielle as it tumbles backward.
Nyrielle raises a hand to block the flame with her stolen magic.
And another figure steps up beside her.
Maireth.
Her Shadows lance upward, darker, more vicious, tearing through the air as she begins to pick off Dravara’s dragons one by one.
The dragons are powerful. But they are not untouchable.
Seren feels the shift instantly.
Hope. Fracturing.
“She’ll pick them off. Every one of them,” she breathes.
“Then we change our approach,” Ronyn says, rushing up beside her, his voice sharp, alive with reckless exhilaration. His gaze tracks the sky, already calculating, already moving three steps ahead. “Finally. Time for Tarrakai. Seren—get on.”
She moves to him, drawing magic into her palms from what remains alive, but?—
A frantic figure rushes toward them, blade in hand, breath ragged and broken.
Ronyn moves before thought can register. He nocks an arrow, and has the bow drawn in less than a heartbeat.
“No!” Seren yells, raising her hands to stop him.
Revryn’s form comes into focus, blood and sweat and dirt mingling on his face, as he races toward them from the direction of The Barrier. The Underbelly.
“Where is my daughter?” he calls out through panicked breaths.
No greeting. Just force.
“Where is she?” he demands, his voice strained and raw.
“I— I don’t know,” Seren admits, dragging her eyes across the carnage. She sees nothing but chaos. Destruction. Wreckage.
Ronyn groans in pain. “Tarrakai won’t wait. I need to Meld,” he grits out, as he drops to his knees. Bones crack and reorganize themselves. Onyx scales rip apart flesh. Wings break through skin and sinew. Ronyn cries out.
“Go!” Seren screams. “Take them down. Every fucking one of them!”
Tarrakai expands. Fills the space like mythology made flesh. A great beast of scales, sinew, and snarling jaws.
The sound that rips from his throat is redemption and relief and rage incarnate.
He does not wait—he draws back onto his haunches and surges into the sky like it’s calling him home.
But Seren doesn’t get time to watch the spectacle. Revryn grips her shoulders. “My daughter!”
