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She gripped his arms as Pyetar pulled her into the saddle.

“We’ve got them!” Vaneshta shouted and the dragon leveled out.

Iryana tumbled against the floor of the saddle, rolling with Pyetar. She landed on top of him, swallowed by the warmth of the dragon.

Her heart still raced, her body tense with adrenaline, as she tried to process that she wasn’t going to die. Iryana lifted herself off Pyetar’s chest, finding Hadima and Misha against the side of the saddle to their right. And to their left, Vaneshta tackled Lidishta, peppering her face with kisses.

Iryana could hardly believe it.

“The nemak?” she rasped.

Pyetar’s lip tilted. “I used Voordiza’s spear. The nemak is dead.”

The relief crashed through the adrenaline, her muscles weakening rapidly and fatigue overwhelming her. But despite it all, Iryana burst into joyous laughter.

Somehow, they all ended up in a pile, holding on to each other. Laughing and crying with bone-deep relief. Iryana squeezed her sisters and her friends with all the strength left in her arms. She never thought she’d get to see them again, never get to hold them again. But here they were, safe and whole. Hugging her back and laughing.

“We need to get out of here now,” Vaneshta called, looking up at the sky around them as the dragon flew them out from above the pit.

Iryana forced her attention skyward. Great black clouds circled them, like they were in the eye of a storm. Dark blue and gold magic swirled like lightning. It was sobering. They may have succeeded in taking down the shield, but gods still had to end this war.

“We need to stay out of the fight, my friend!” Vaneshta begged the dragon, leaning over the edge of the saddle to touch its back.

There was no way they could pass through those storm clouds, at least not that Iryana could see. The great ash-colored dragon soared higher, hopefully beyond the reach of the gods. As they huddled in the flat saddle against the wind, Iryana turned back toward the pit and her jaw dropped.

God-giants stepped out of the storm.

She’d seen countless depictions of the gods in their giant forms, fighting over Istri, but it didn’t prepare her for what she saw. They didn’t look like people anymore, no longer made of flesh and blood. They looked like roiling bodies of magic. Like without their human-like shells to contain them, this is what they really were. An unfathomable depth of magic.

The only way she could tell them apart was by the color of the magic that formed them.

A golden god-giant thundered out of the clouds, firing an arrow that looked like sunlight into the purple god-giant.

Misha was staring at Thelbiz’s form. “You told that to fuck off?”

“Perhaps not my wisest choice,” Iryana admitted, a bit hysterically.

It didn’t feel like they were meant to see the gods like this.

Massive weapons formed of magic swung in their hands, cutting into each other and sending sprays of blood to the ground. Mhakiza wielded a longsword of flaming red. Voordiza had two short swords that swirled around her. Limhiz swung a giant rock-like hammer. And Thelbiz, of course, had his golden bow. They fought with the ease of great warriors, but they were nothing compared to Noshtiz, the god of metal, war, and protection. He faced them, wielding a huge two-handed greatsword that swirled through the air, slicing through the storm clouds around them. What sounded like thunder ripped through the air, but Iryana thought it was the gods speaking to each other, just in a way only they could understand.

Once they climbed high enough, the dragon circled the eye of the storm, banking slightly to stay within it. They had front row seats to the gods’ final battle. They crowded against the inner side and watched. There was little else for them to do.

Pyetar crouched at Iryana’s back, his chin resting on her shoulder. Misha and Hadima each held one of her hands, squeezing tightly. Vaneshta and Lidishta huddled besides Hadima.

“This would be incredible if it wasn’t so terrifying,” Hadima breathed.

“It’s still incredible,” Misha whispered back, eyes transfixed on the scene.

Noshtiz’s sword was so great that he used his full body to swing it, slicing wide arcs around him and then coming up over his head. But he was already swinging the greatsword back around again before the other gods could get close.

The others tried to keep Noshtiz busy, to give Mhakiza openings to press the advantage of fire over metal, but Noshtiz was careful to avoid them.

Water was the most vulnerable to metal, and Iryana winced every time Voordiza grew too close to Noshtiz’s blade. But she moved gracefully, careful to dance out of the way of the swinging sword. It was like she could predict where the sword would go and how she had to move to avoid it. But there was only so much premonition could do when you faced a swordmaster so great.

Iryana gasped as Noshtiz’s sword caught Voordiza, shoulder to hip, tearing a great hole in whatever force kept her magic in. Her whole form seemed to shake and quiver, blue magic raining onto the ground.

Limhiz kept Noshtiz from cutting her the rest of the way through, knocking his sword away with his hammer.